


The Princess and the Bear

by ZoeSong



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate History, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Arranged Marriage, Assassination Attempt(s), Beacon Hills, Carpenter!Rollo, Childbirth, Churches & Cathedrals, Cliffhanger, Dancing Cats, Declarations Of Love, Dreaded Ragnar Return, Eventual Romance, F/M, Feminist!Rollo, Flytings, Forced Marriage, Gisla Back Story, Gisla Norse Princess, Gisla pregnant, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous!Rollo, Medieval Europe, Medieval History, Memorials, Minor Character Death, Norse Astronomy, Norse/Frankish Culture Clash, Paris to Rouen, Ragnar Returns, Rainy Day Games, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Risla Fic, Rolisla, Rolisla Fic, Rollo Back Story, Rollo Dances Naked on the Beach, Rollo Learns to Read, Rollo and Gisla Morning After, Rollo and Gisla Wedding Night, Rollo in Paris, Rollo/Gisla Wedding, Rollo/Gisla consummation, Rollo/Gisla in Rouen, Romance, Rosla Fic, Sinric Back Story, Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte, Ulfberht Sword, Viking Ships, Viking Village Visit, Viking ship, Vikings, Wedding Night, a goat, magic mushrooms, mead and mushroom hangover, nalbinding, raspberries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 171,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoeSong/pseuds/ZoeSong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after Rollo meets Gisla?  Their stormy relationship begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Princess and the Bear Meet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swimmingfox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/gifts).



> A note on canon: I will be trying to stick to "show canon" regarding characters and events, but obviously there will be much that I have to take liberties on since we don't know Gisla very well yet and don't know Sinric much at all. This takes place after Season 3 and is being written months before Season 4 is to begin. 
> 
> A note on POV: The story will shift from Rollo’s to Gisla’s POV from time to time. Since it is written in the third person, I think it will be clear whose POV is being presented, but for now, just in case, I’m including the character names as I go.
> 
> With great thanks to my excellent editor and muse, swimmingfox.

~~

**Rollo**

“Hello.” Rollo pronounced his greeting carefully, as Sinric had taught him, and smiled broadly. Being here in this splendid hall, seeing the princess and the king and all their people waiting for him – _him, Rollo of Kattegat_ – filled him with an immeasurable joy. The seer had been right; he could happily dance naked on the beach today. 

He looked about after his greeting, to see what the reaction would be. The princess looked slightly surprised, but said nothing. Her haughty look continued to confront him. He wondered what exactly she had said, but Sinric had seemed embarrassed to translate it. The king seemed suddenly to notice him and nodded graciously. So, it was clearly only the king who wished this. 

“Sinric, what did she say?” Rollo leaned down to the wanderer.

“I – I – it is hard to translate.” Sinric looked down, as if ashamed that he couldn’t translate it, but Rollo was not fooled.

“Sinric, it’s clear that she’s not happy with this arrangement. She is glaring at me even now. Does she think me an idiot?”

Sinric hesitated. “Among other things, yes.” 

Rollo laughed. “Very well. We shall call their bluff.”

“Their _bluff_ , Rollo?”

“Yes. Ask the princess if she willingly agrees to this marriage. Tell her that it is usual in the North for women to have a say in whom they marry – or whether they marry or not.” This was not entirely true, but true enough for his purposes.

Sinric thought for a moment, looked a little nervously at the princess, but complied. Rollo watched to see the reaction of the princess. She looked astonished, and after a glance at the king and a moment of thought, said something in rapid, sharp words and sat staring at him in open challenge.

Rollo waited, admiring the fire in her eyes.

Sinric translated carefully. “I cannot – and will not - marry a man who is not a Christian.” 

The king put his hand up to his forehead in obvious distress, but Rollo just nodded and smiled. “As it happens, I have been baptized as a Christian.”

Gisla looked startled as she heard Sinric’s rendition of Rollo’s words. She glanced about in confusion. But then she regained her composure and shot back a stream of words so quickly that Rollo thought even Sinric might not understand them. 

But he did. “Ahem. Rollo. She says, umm, she says, ‘Just as your brother the king was baptized? Is that the sort of Christian you are? He murdered the archbishop and threatened my father – and kidnapped me!’” Sinric looked at Rollo uneasily. 

Rollo drew a deep breath. It would take all his will to hold his temper. He did not bother to try using their language. He would let Sinric translate this however harsh it sounded.

“I…am…not…my…brother.” His anger over Ragnar’s deceit welled inside him. He’d made a fool of all of them. Rollo recalled the stunned look on Lagertha’s face and Floki’s spitting in disgust when Ragnar limped back out of the city. “My brother duped you all. He had a vision that he would take this city and all its riches. That was not my vision. But he is my brother – and my king. So I fought as he desired.”

He paused to allow Sinric to finish translating. The king nodded, attempting to show understanding, it seemed. Gisla appeared unmoved. 

Rollo continued, “I am told that you call me a ‘crazed bear.’” He allowed his voice to reflect the anger that he felt at Ragnar. He noticed that the king looked uncomfortable again. _Good_. He stepped a little closer, drew himself to his full height, eyeing the king as he proceeded, “That does not insult me – that is exactly how I fight and how all of my men will fight….”

Again he waited as Sinric poured out his words and caused the king to shift in his seat nervously and some of the king’s men to grasp their weapons defensively. 

“…to defend Paris and these lands according to this treaty we have made with you.” He relaxed his stance for a moment and watched the king’s face as his words sunk in. Relief. A nod and a tentative smile. 

“And I will fight to defend the safety and the honor of this woman who will be my wife.” He allowed his gaze to drift to Gisla and regarded her with warmth. Her strength, her bearing, and her subtle beauty all attracted him. Never in his life had he so wanted to win over a woman. 

She stared at him openly, her eyes boring into his as if by doing so she could determine his trustworthiness. She seemed to come to no conclusion, and instead turned to her father. 

Rollo was enthralled to see that it was Gisla who looked stern and demanding as she appealed to her father with only her eyes. And that it was the king who looked back at her with pleading eyes. Rollo recalled that his brother had said that the king had done nothing when Ragnar had sprung from his funeral boat to launch his attack. That it was _Gisla_ who had tried to fight him, tried to defend her own father. And rumor had it that the king had actually fainted when Ragnar had escaped with Gisla. What sort of man was this king? Rollo watched carefully as Gisla took in the silent appeal of her father. She seemed to resign herself; the set of her shoulders dropped, her eyes lost their fierceness. Slightly. Drawing herself back up with a great breath, she said something in a strong, firm voice. 

Sinric listened with alertness, and then translated slowly, “I agree to this marriage to save my people and my city.”

Again, she looked toward Rollo with proud, if slightly less haughty eyes. He smiled and dipped his head at her. 

“Good. I -- am -- pleased.” He hoped his words were spoken well; Sinric nodded at him, so the words must have been right. 

The king stood up, smiling and holding out his hands in welcome to Rollo, and then, turning to Gisla, said something in a calm, even relieved tone. Rollo eagerly awaited Sinric’s translation.

“Then let us proceed to the chapel for the betrothal ceremony.” 

Rollo nodded. His men around him congratulated him. 

The holy man – what did Sinric call him? – the Bishop – walked forward and beckoned him and Gisla. Rollo strode forward.

~~

 **Gisla**

Before she knew what was happening, Gisla found herself in the chapel, standing before the bishop as he read the words from the Holy Scripture, preparing her and the hulking man beside her for the betrothal vows. She was only half listening, as her thoughts fluttered around her. She had agreed to this despite all her determination not to. How did that happen? 

She had held out one last hope that her father, upon seeing the actual man she was to wed, would take pity on her and seek out a different agreement with these invaders. But her father’s eyes, no longer commanding as they’d been at dinner yesterday, had pleaded with her. He could see no other way and would sacrifice her to this brute of a foreigner who was to be her _husband_. It took an enormous effort not to shudder openly when she thought of it. 

There was nothing to be done but to go on with it. The bishop had beckoned to her. Ignoring her intended, Gisla had stepped down from the dais, and alongside her father, followed the bishop to the chapel. She was vaguely aware that the Northman and his little interpreter followed them, talking in whispers. The short walk down the palace hallway was like a strange, misty dream to her. Only the excited murmurs of the Northman’s horde entering the gilded chapel recalled her to her surroundings. 

Now she watched the bishop’s face intently, trying to keep her mind on the sacred words. But she could only see that savage’s boorish face instead. As he had grinned at her like a buffoon, railed at her and her father, and then leered at her openly – how could she be marrying _that_?

Yet here he was standing right beside her. She would not look at him, but his presence was overbearing. She could smell the musky odor of the furs he was wearing. At least, she supposed it was the furs. And now he was turning towards her. What was the bishop saying?

“Now you will exchange the betrothal vows. Rollo, take her right hand in yours. Repeat the words,” the bishop commanded solemnly. 

Gisla turned toward the Northman – _Rollo_ he was called -- dreading to look into his eyes, but saw that he was looking down towards the translator as the little man explained things to him. Rollo nodded and faced her, but just stood there, staring like a fool. She glanced away in embarrassment. 

She started as Rollo took her hand. It was as if a snake had bitten her. She wanted to snatch her hand away, but steeled herself and let her hand lie in his. He held it loosely at first, as if uncertain, but then he tightened his grip, and she felt its warmth and strength as he continued to hold it firmly while they listened to the bishop. 

The bishop spoke the words very slowly, and Rollo repeated them carefully in Frankish, all the while gazing into her eyes, making her uncomfortable. “In the name -- of our Lord, I, Rollo, pro -- mise -- that I will -- one day -- take thee, Gisla, as -- my -- wife….” He broke off both words and his gaze to look to the bishop to follow the next words. 

“…according to the ordinances of God and holy church,” the bishop continued. Rollo shook his head, told Sinric something, and Sinric asked the bishop repeat the words. Rollo frowned as the bishop continued, even more slowly, and then tried the passage.

“…ac –- cord -- ing to the or –- di –- nances….” His mouth seemed to have a life of its own as it formed itself around the strange words, and Gisla found herself thinking she might almost laugh if it was someone else standing here promising to marry him. 

“…of God and ho -- ly church?” He looked first at Gisla, then to the bishop, who nodded and went on. 

“I will -- love -- thee -- even as -- myself. I will -- keep -- faith and – loy -- alty -- to thee….”

Gisla stared back at Rollo as he spoke these words and wondered if he even knew what he was promising. As if he’d heard her thoughts, he suddenly stopped and spoke in a frustrated tone to the translator. The blond man glanced apprehensively at the bishop, but then rattled off a few sentences to Rollo. A glimmer of understanding appeared in Rollo’s eyes and he nodded, then turned back to Gisla and smiled. Without breaking eye contact with her, he raised his free hand to the bishop to indicate that he could go on. 

Rollo continued with the rest of the vows, stumbling over words, stopping once to have his man translate. “…which things and all that man ought to do unto his –- es -- poused I promise to do unto thee and to keep by the -- faith that is in me.” 

Rollo continued to stare into Gisla’s eyes after these words. But how could he make these promises “by the faith” when he was a heathen? She did not trust his supposed baptism; she’d seen the mad look in his brother’s eyes as he’d slain the archbishop and threatened her father, all the while grasping her by the throat. What if this man was just toying with them all? All the while he’d been speaking, his hand had tensed around hers, his grasp tightening unconsciously. Suddenly her hand felt just as her throat had – squeezed, trapped – she wanted to wrench her hand away as she felt the panic rising. She couldn’t marry this man!

But now the bishop was addressing her, asking her to repeat her part of the vows. Everyone was waiting expectantly, her father smiling beatifically at her from just beyond the bishop. She forced the panic back and repeated the words slowly, methodically, “In the name of our Lord, I, Gisla, do declare that, in the form and manner therein thou hast promised thyself unto me, do declare and affirm that I will one day bind and oblige myself unto thee and will take thee, Rollo, as my husband. And all that thou has pledged.”

 _Bind and oblige myself_. She had made the vow before God and the witnesses about her. Rollo smiled and nodded at her as he realized she had finished and looked about as if for direction. 

The bishop took the two ends of his stole, placed one over the other in the form of a cross, and placed them over their clasped hands. He intoned, “I bear witness to thy solemn proposal and I declare thee betrothed. In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” Then he sprinkled them with holy water, causing Rollo to let go of her hand and draw back as if he’d been burnt. The witnesses murmured, some chuckling slightly. Gisla shook her head at such a disrespectful display. Rollo recovered himself, shaking his head, reminding her of a dog shaking off water by the riverbank.

“The ring?” the bishop asked. The interpreter started to translate, but Rollo had already begun to fumble about in his tunic and brought out a heavy silver ring. It was clearly a man’s ring, but a thin piece of leather had been wrapped around part of the band to make it fit a smaller hand. 

The bishop took the ring and said the words of the blessing over it, then returned it to Rollo, who turned to Gisla. He waited, listening for the bishop’s instructions and the interpreter’s translations. Then he repeated the bishop’s words, and gently placed the ring on Gisla’s finger. It was loose, but she closed her fingers under it to hold it in place. It was hard and smooth and its encircling solidity made her realize the finality of what was happening. _Bound_.

Now the bishop was holding out the holy book, opened to a page with the crucifix drawn on it. He indicated to Rollo to kiss the crucifix. Rollo listened to the translation and a look of utter incredulity spread over his face. He said something to his companion, and the little man nodded, so, shaking his head, Rollo bent to kiss the page. As he arose, he looked about as if he expected lightning to strike. Gisla was torn between amusement and disgust as she watched him. Baptized as a Christian indeed. 

When the bishop held the book out to her, she kissed the crucifix reverently. She gave Rollo a sideways glance as she straightened. 

Finally, they stood together for the bishop’s blessing. He held his hand out over the two of them and said the words. And it was done. They were betrothed. 

And Gisla felt – numb. She tried desperately to feel God’s will in this terrible thing she had been forced to do, but could only feel that this must be a bad dream that would surely end soon. 

Yet the man before her was grinning like a madman again. He was asking the translator something and the little man was shaking his head. Rollo looked disappointed. What could he have asked? 

But now Rollo had turned around and announced something to his pagan friends who stood behind them. They gave a cheer and began to come around him and slap him on the back, clearly congratulating him. Gisla was shocked. Such behavior in the chapel! And some of them seemed to be eyeing the gilded cross and candleholders. But her father seemed only mildly concerned; he nodded and gently suggested that they go into the feast hall. The interpreter seemed to have heard him, for he raised his voice and told the men something and they nodded vigorously and gave another round of congratulations to Rollo. 

Rollo turned back towards her and offered her his arm. There was a warm, almost gentle look in his eyes. Skeptical, she took his arm, and they led the procession into the feast hall. A chill rose from the stones of the ancient hallway as they went, and she wondered what the future with this man would bring. 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cultural note:  
> The content of the betrothal ceremony was adapted from [this document](http://laudatedominum.net/files/bet.pdf). I used it pretty much verbatim, but I figured the bishop might give Rollo a break and not require him to sign a document. I also had him simplify the ring ceremony.


	2. The Princess and the Bear at the Feast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my ever-patient and awesome editor, swimmingfox.
> 
> Comments, suggestions, and requests are encouraged and appreciated!

~~

**Rollo**

All along the hallway, Rollo stole glances at Gisla. He could scarcely contain himself. It had actually happened. He was betrothed to a _princess_. And she was a woman of fire and passion. He wanted to laugh out loud. 

But as they turned a corner and approached a large doorway, he grew a little apprehensive. What new challenges would he face here? He hoped that he wouldn’t do anything too foolish. The betrothal ceremony had been quite an ordeal. So many words. Just to _promise_ that he’d marry her!

And he’d had to kiss a picture in a book, but couldn’t kiss the princess? What sort of nonsense was that? True, betrothals back in Kattegat were mainly legal affairs between the groom and the father of the bride; no kissing there either, but still.

He glanced again at the woman who walked silently beside him. Chances are, she wouldn’t have liked it if he _had_ kissed her. He’d have to change that. He’d never had much trouble getting a woman to like him before. 

As they entered the doorway of the feast hall, Rollo could see a series of long narrow tables stretching down a very large room. He hesitated, wondering where they were to sit and was about to ask Gisla about it, forgetting for a moment that he’d not have the words to ask her. But just then, Sinric came up behind him and spoke to him, low, “Rollo, I have taken the liberty of asking the king’s advisor how the banquet will be arranged. They seat their nobles at the highest table with the king. Gisla and you will be seated with the king, along with some of your men. You are to choose which men shall be seated with you at the high table.”

Rollo grimaced. More formalities – so much to learn. Well, this would be his life married to a princess, and though there was a lot to learn, he welcomed it. 

Gisla waited, watching them, presumably wondering what they were speaking of, and he shrugged at her sheepishly. “One moment,” he said to her in Norse, hoping she’d get the idea. He spotted Halvar, his most trusted battle leader among the men. The tall red-haired man raised his eyebrows at him as he approached.

“Rollo, tired of her already? You just got her!” He slapped Rollo on the shoulder and laughed. 

Rollo chuckled, “No, no. But I need you to organize the men – have the thegns sit at the high table with me and tell the drengs to sit below. Sinric will explain things. I must go with Gisla.”

Halvar nodded, “Of course, of course! No one will care where they sit when they feast with the Frankish king and your future bride!”

Rollo thanked him and turned back to Gisla, Together, they walked to a raised table where her father was already taking a seat, along with a few noble men and women. Servants came to help them be seated and to bring them water bowls to wash in. 

Rollo was relieved to see Sinric approaching with Halvar. The men were seated fairly quickly and the king gave what must have been an order to begin, for some musicians began to play at the far end of the hall, and servants came out bearing trays of food and flagons of wine. 

Wine. Thank Aegir. He downed the contents of his cup in one pass before he noticed that Gisla just sipped hers daintily. She gave him a disapproving frown, then seemed to think better of it, and signaled to a servant, who quickly brought more wine to Rollo. 

Next the servants brought trays laid out with of some sort of small, round, morsels of food. He watched with astonishment as a number of snail shells were served onto his plate and looked about in dismay. He leaned over to Sinric and whispered, “Has the siege left them so short of food that they are forced to eat bugs?”

Sinric laughed, “No, Rollo, snails are considered a delicacy here. Something to whet your appetite!” 

Rollo shook his head in impatience. “I have never needed anything to give me an appetite.” But he turned back to his plate to consider this unusual source of food. He watched Gisla as she chose a snail and holding it in place with her spoon, deftly removed the meat of the animal from the shell with a small fork. He glanced at the king, who seemed to be enjoying his meal immensely. 

With a look of doubt at Sinric, Rollo gathered up one of the snails into his spoon and poked at it with the fork. The shell wobbled around and slid off the spoon onto the table. He tried again, this time using his hand to steady the shell. He managed to get the meat out of the shell and onto the fork. But as he brought it to his mouth, the meat slid off his fork onto his plate. Gisla made a small “hmpff” sound as Rollo scrambled to scoop up the meat and popped it into his mouth. It tasted like butter and some sort of herb he’d not tasted before. But the texture was strange to him. It reminded him of the mussels they’d sometimes brought to the long house for meals at home. He was never fond of mussels. 

He looked about to see how the other men were faring. They were struggling with their spoons and forks and the buttery meat. Some of them were making faces and joking about it. He tried to catch their eye to get them to stop. Gisla said something quite loudly to her father. The king looked up from the meal he was obviously relishing, and replied to her in a worried tone. He waved a hand and a servant hurried over to receive the orders he gave.

Rollo turned to Sinric, who looked a little embarrassed, “She said you did not like the escargot -- the snails -- and that they should be taken away before the men became sick on them. The king ordered the servants to bring something else.”

Sure enough, one group of servants came to take the snails away and others came with plates of what looked like squab. Rollo heard one of his men, perhaps Gulbrand, say, “This is more like it!” in anticipation of the new course. Rollo smiled and caught first Gisla’s eye, then the king’s. “Thank you,” he pronounced carefully. 

The king lifted his hand graciously and nodded. Gisla just looked at Rollo with contempt.

Vegetables and bread were brought and Rollo and the others dug into what became as sumptuous a meal as they’d ever tasted. Rollo, without thinking, broke his apart with his hands, as he was used to doing. Gisla gave a disapproving sniff and stayed focused on her own plate. After that, she scarcely looked at him. The king did not seem to notice or care how Rollo and his men ate. He listened to the music and ate contentedly, occasionally speaking to Count Odo who sat to his left. Rollo decided to do the same.

As Rollo finished his squab, he noticed that Gisla was looking at him with disgust. He raised his eyebrows at her and turned to Sinric. 

“What have I done wrong now? I finished it all. It was good, though rather small.” 

Sinric pointed at him, clearly trying not to laugh, “I think it is that you have a little of it on your beard.” 

Before he could bring his hand up to try to wipe it away, Gisla had handed him a linen cloth. He took it gratefully and swiped at his beard. Gisla had looked away as if she didn’t want to see him neatening himself. Sinric, though, nodded vigorously, still trying to hide his mirth.

Rollo didn’t see what the trouble was; people always got food on their faces and hands. They would wash later, of course. He looked up as it appeared another course was being served.

As the servants brought around trays of steaming meat, something that looked like beef, the king nudged his daughter and spoke to her in a low voice. She looked at him sullenly, but then nodded. Sinric whispered to Rollo that the king had urged her to make conversation with her betrothed, more than just about the food. 

Gisla glanced around as if trying to think of something to discuss, then leaned in so she could see past him and peered down the table at Rollo’s men, starting with Sinric. Then she asked something of Sinric and sat a little sideways in her chair to await his answer.

Sinric explained, “She asks my name and how I came to be skilled with languages.”

Rollo glanced back and forth at each of them. That wasn’t exactly conversation with her betrothed. “Well, tell her. And tell me.” He realized with some consternation that he didn’t really know much about this wanderer that his brother had found. 

The little man gave his name and rattled off a few sentences to Gisla. Then he turned and translated for Rollo. “I told her that I am from Stockholm, and that I always had wanderlust. I began as a trader and then just traveled from place to place working where I could, learning the language and culture of each place.”

Rollo nodded, “Interesting. You must tell me more later.” Gisla was looking at them both as if waiting for them to finish. She asked Sinric something else.

 “She wishes to know about your men. Who they are and why they support you and not your brother.” Sinric winced a little at the pointedness of the question. 

Rollo was not deterred. “A good question.” He turned to face her and spoke directly to her, pausing now and then to allow for translation. “They are my battle leaders; they fight with me, under my orders. We have fought together for years. When my brother went back to Kattegat, he asked for a large number of men to stay behind. I chose to stay, and most of my men chose to stay with me. They are glad for the chance to settle good land here and to gain some wealth and position.”

Gisla looked back down the table as Sinric finished his translation, as if assessing whether the men could be trusted to defend Paris or would turn on them when their king returned. Rollo anticipated her question and said firmly, “They will follow my orders.” She looked startled at Sinric’s translation. Rollo smiled. He liked that he could see what she was thinking.

Or not. Her next question startled _him_. “Do you not consider this a betrayal of your brother?” Behind her, the king was tut-tutting, and put his hand on her arm to stay her from asking such questions. But beyond the king, Rollo noticed that Count Odo had leaned in to hear his answer. 

He took a sip of wine before replying. “My brother went away and found a princess to marry, and came back and later became king. He would not be surprised that his brother should take a similar opportunity to marry well and gain position and lands.”

This time Count Odo addressed him, “And you will have no misgivings in fighting your own brother?”

Rollo gave Odo a searing look. “I keep my promises. You need only remember that.”

The king cleared his throat pointedly. He waved his hand to the servants, who came to clear away the most recent course as others came out with new ones. The new trays were much more colorful than the earlier ones. They seemed to be filled with decorated items, many with various kinds of fruit. 

“I think our guests will like our sweets; I especially like the strawberry tarts.” The king waved one of the servants over to Rollo and must have told him to serve some to Rollo because the servant filled his plate with an assortment of delightful-looking treats. He turned to Gisla and asked her to tell him what each one was. She pointed to each, starting with the strawberry tarts and ending with an artful arrangement of small amber-colored lumps, which she called “dragées.” He tasted them and found each more delightful than the last until he tried the dragées, which turned out to be lumps of honey, some with nuts in the middle. “Delicious,” he declared. He scooped up several more and popped a few into his mouth. Gisla raised her eyebrows at him. Sinric whispered, “Perhaps don’t eat so many at once.” Rollo smiled sheepishly.

Spiced wine was served and silence fell again. Rollo wondered what would come next, both now at the feast and later. He longed to get to know the princess, show her that he was not so contemptible as she seemed to think. He nudged Sinric, “Ask the princess what she does during the day. I would like to know about her life.”

Gisla's eyes widened. “Since your siege began, I have spent every day praying in the church for deliverance from your people. And walking among the soldiers to encourage them and walking in the city to keep the people from losing hope.” Her eyes flashed. 

But Rollo was unabashed, “And now? Since the siege is over?”

“I still walk among the people to encourage them, to see how they fare. So many have suffered. And I visit the wounded in the hospital. And I pray in the church each morning.”

Rollo nodded solemnly. “Then I will come with you, to learn what you do and what I must do as your husband.”

As Sinric translated this, the king overheard and nodded his approval. He said something to Gisla and she looked unhappy for a moment before her face registered acceptance. She nodded to Sinric and he translated to Rollo. “The king says you are free to accompany his daughter in all her daily duties and activities. And she will show you the palace, if that would please you.” Rollo dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment of the king's graciousness. 

A short time later another plate of dragées was brought to Rollo alone. Rollo helped himself to a few of them, then caught Gisla’s stare, and offered them down the table. He sucked on the one in his mouth a little guiltily, but caught the king’s eye and saw him smile indulgently at him. What a strange man, to feed his enemy so richly and with such hospitality, not to mention offering him his daughter. He slipped a handful of the sweets into his tunic pocket and wondered what the day with Gisla would bring. 

~~

**Gisla**

She was furious. Her father betrayed her on every turn. She'd complied with his wishes and gone through with the betrothal, wasn't that enough for one day? Couldn't she go about her duties without having this -- this _barbarian_ along with her? 

And she was to show him the palace. Why? So that he could know where more of their riches lay? So he could show his brother when he returned? She gritted her teeth and walked along in silence. As they walked down the long hall, she fiddled nervously with the heavy ring he'd given her, twisting it, feeling its strangeness on her hand. As she rubbed her finger over the woven pattern of metal on it, Rollo suddenly pointed to the ring and said something. Sinric leaned around Rollo to translate.

"The ring is of course too big; it was mine. But a new one will be made to fit you properly."

She self-consciously looked at her hands. "Oh, it does not matter. I do not care."

"No, no, a new one will be made. For the wedding." Rollo smiled at her.

She suppressed a shudder and kept her voice calm. "As you say." She tried not to touch the ring again, but her hand seemed to have a mind of its own, her index finger passing over the twisting pattern once again.

"That pattern: it is symbolic of the ropes and knots that are needed in sailing our ships." As he spoke, Rollo had reached over to her hand to point to the ring, touching her hand as he did. She pulled it away sharply. _Ropes and knots_. More symbols of how she was being bound in this marriage.

If Rollo was insulted, he showed no sign of it. He merely drew his hand back, smiled, and looked about the passage, as if to suggest that they continue.

She led them down the hall and stopped at the door of the library. One of her guards approached her and rather than opening the door, as she'd expected, he leaned in to whisper to her, "Princess, should you take him here?" 

"Why not? My father insisted I show him the palace. This is his favorite room to show guests."

"Perhaps not _this_ guest?"

"He is my betrothed. Surely he will not want to break the treaty that benefits him so?"

The guard seemed unconvinced, but argued no further. He gestured to the other guards, and they opened the doors.

"This is the library. My father has his books here -- and other treasures." Already she could see Rollo looking with keen eyes at the gilded furnishings. "These," she indicated a pair of gilt-edged volumes lying open on a high table, "belonged to my great grandfather, Charlemagne."

Rollo seemed greatly impressed as he inspected them and the other things in the room, "Your father has so many books."

"Does not your brother have many books?"

"No, we have no need for books."

"You have no books? How do your record your history?"

Rollo tapped his temple. "It is all here. We learn the stories as young children. And we have skalds, learned men who can recite the stories of our people. There is no need to write it down."

Gisla was incredulous. The common people had no need for writing and books, but the nobles and royalty? She gave Rollo a look of disdain. "There mustn't be much to know then."

"Oh, there is much indeed. I can tell you all about it if you wish."

"No, thank you. I have no need to know your history. Shall we continue?" She ignored his raised eyebrows at her reply. 

She took them through to the Council Hall. 

Rollo looked all around the room. "Every room is so big." 

"It is the king's palace. Your king's palace is not so grand?"

Rollo hesitated a moment before answering. "It is a big house with a great hall, but not so large as this, no."

Gisla nodded. "A chateau or manor house, then." 

Sinric seemed to take a long time translating or explaining this, and after Rollo had replied, said vaguely, "You could call it that, yes."

"And your own house?"

Rollo smiled enigmatically. "Smaller, but comfortable."

Gisla pondered on this for a moment. "So this is why you raid; to get more riches so you can build grander homes?"

"You could say that also. And to build ships. And to find lands to settle."

"But you give up your own lands to stay here." She moved one step closer to Rollo, narrowing her eyes. "Do you not regret what you leave behind?"

His eyes flickered for a moment before he leaned down to her and replied firmly, "I regret nothing. I will have all I want and need here." 

She took a step back, startled by the intensity of his eyes and suddenly aware of the sheer physicality of him. He had seemed so huge earlier in his thick fur cloak -- every bit the bear that he'd been described as. Now, without it, he seemed more normal, less of a brute. And yet, on the wall he'd worn almost nothing and _was_ a crazed bear, roaring and spattered with blood. She stiffened at the thought that _he_ could want her, then, composing herself, said ceremoniously, "Perhaps you would like to see the gardens before it grows dark?" 

"Yes, of course." He dipped his head to her. A slight twinkle seemed to be in his eyes as he straightened. She turned with a huff and led the way.

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes:
> 
> According to sources, there was very little formal structure by way of military rank in Viking armies. The term ðegn (thegn) was used for the veteran warriors or members of a boat crew, and dreng referred to a younger warrior. It would seem like Rollo would have brought only thegns with him to his betrothal ceremony, but in the show it appears that the men with him are of varying ages so I've included both. I created Halvar (his name means "rock guardian") to be a man from that group; I see him as somewhat like Torstein in personality. I really miss Torstein!
> 
> While sources indicate that the princess, in the absence of a queen, should probably have sat to the king’s left at the feast, I am going by show canon in which Gisla was sitting to her father’s right when he was on the throne. I pictured Rollo to her right and his top men, with Sinric first since he’s needed to translate, to his right. His other men would be at the first table to the right of that (I picture it in a U shape with the head table at the apex of the U. There might be other tables beyond those as well if this was a very large banquet). 
> 
> Rollo thanks a Norse god for the wine; there doesn't seem to be a Norse god of wine specifically, but Aegir, the god of the sea, is also the god of brewing, and is said to brew the best mead. 
> 
> Sources vary as to the food and the order of service during a medieval feast, and the most detailed seem to come from the late Middle Ages, so I have taken some liberties with the setting here. But the serving of escargot apparently goes back to ancient times in many places and is therefore not out of place in the show, so I used it here. When researching the eating of snails, I found that it seemed to be wide-spread in southern Europe, but not mentioned for northern Europe, aside from southern Germany. Thus I presumed that the Northmen might find it strange to eat such creatures. I found it interesting that snails were mentioned as “famine food” for countries that did not traditionally eat them regularly; particularly mentioned was Scotland. 
> 
> Today tongs and small seafood forks are used to eat snails, but I did not find information discussing the use of tongs in medieval France nor did they show the use of tongs in the show during the meal scene with the king and Gisla. There is some unidentified utensil on Gisla's plate, along with a large spoon and a two-pronged fork. But the eating of the snails is not demonstrated in the show. So I included spoons and forks at the head table in the feast scene, although it's not clear how a spoon could be used to brace a snail nor how the meat could be picked out with such a large fork. But according to several sources on medieval feasts, people used their hands to eat a lot of things, so Rollo probably wouldn't have been out of line in doing so.
> 
> According to one source, people only ate a little during each course, presumably since there were so many courses. I have had Rollo eating only one squab, for instance. He probably would have eaten more, but other dishes were brought, so he'd find plenty to satisfy his voracious appetite.
> 
> In the palace tour scene, I used both show canon and information I'd read about Charlemagne's palace in Aachen (also known as Aix-la-Chapelle), where he apparently spent most of his time. He had a library of books, so I thought it reasonable enough that some could have passed to his great, great grandson, Charles the Simple, depicted in the show. Charlemagne would really be five generations removed from Gisla, so she should have added two "greats" to her comment about him. I went with show canon there; her father called Charlemagne his "grandfather." The show has taken liberties with the time frame and historical figures, so perhaps they cut out a few generations, have merged Charles the Bald (king during the first Viking siege of Paris in 845 when the "historical" Ragnar sacked Paris) and Charles the Simple (king in 911 when the historical Rollo was offered land, a title, and the hand of Gisela to defend the region from further Viking raids), or they just had the king simplify how he spoke of the relationship.


	3. The Bear Goes to Catechism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rollo gets a little more education than he bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to:
> 
> swimmingfox, for continuing to be my wonderful beta-reader and editor and for spurring me on with encouragement and ideas. I owe it to her that I get chapters posted at all! 
> 
> HeyYouWithTheFace, for swooping in with an additional "above and beyond" beta-reading and editing of this chapter and for suggesting a few additions that I believe have enriched it.
> 
> Windchimed, for her excellent eleventh-hour surface edit.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: A section of the story and my end notes were added after the editing. All errors are purely mea culpa!
> 
> POV note: I am no longer labeling the POV for each scene. I think it's clear enough from the narration. Please let me know if that's a problem.
> 
> Apology: For taking so long to get this chapter up. Between my obsession with looking up every possible historical or cultural detail (although still taking liberties with how they are portrayed), being on vacation, serving on jury duty, going in for a medical procedure, and getting distracted with future chapters that wanted to be written now, I found it hard to get it done. I hope it was worth the wait. While I hope to get future chapters up in a little more regular fashion, I can't promise to do so because I will be going back to work in a couple of weeks and will have even less time for writing. Thanks for your patience!
> 
> ~~
> 
> Show references:
> 
> Gisla’s clothing, Rollo’s wolf pendant, and Ragnar’s cross are pictured [here](http://zoesongs.tumblr.com/post/125247625527/gisla-as-i-picture-her-hair-and-dress-when-going).
> 
> ~~

~~

 

Gisla awoke as she did every morning, gathering her thoughts for her duties for the day. But as she started to pull back the covers, she became immediately aware of the heavy ring on her hand. Everything was different now. Her daily routine was to be intruded upon by this barbarian who was now her betrothed. 

She knelt briefly to pray for strength and then rose and called for her ladies. As she waited, she glanced out the window and gazed at the rooftops of her city. How long would she have before leaving this place? Would she ever return?

Her women entered, carrying water and clean linens, wishing her a cheery “good morning.” Gisla murmured an unenthusiastic response and turned to the task of washing and dressing for the day. 

As Ermengarde began to comb out Gisla’s hair, Rosamund went to the wardrobe. “Which gown shall you wear today? The filmy pink gown with the green and cream overdress is lovely.”

Ermengarde chimed in, “Oh yes, with the gold circlet and ivory veil, no?”

Gisla shook her head. “I will spend more time at the hospital today, so something more practical, I should think. No veil – just the gilded circlet. I will be walking a great deal, so the tunic dress and low boots would be better.”

Ermengarde exclaimed, “But that dress is so drab; you should look your best for your betrothed! You will want to entice him, no?” Ermengarde was a little older than Gisla, and had been married herself very recently. She spoke of very little but romance.

Gisla gave the woman a reproachful look. “The betrothal is made. He will receive land and riches and my hand. I need not pander to him.” 

Ermengarde smiled slyly, “Perhaps not, but it is always good to make yourself pleasing.”

“I will not change my ways for him. He and his men have caused enough trouble and change for all of us. I will wear the tunic gown.”

“We cannot all have your marriage, Ermengarde; not everyone can have a love match,” Rosamund chided gently. Rosamund was an older woman who had been with Gisla since she was a child; she had been like a mother to her. 

Gisla glanced at Rosamund. “I did not expect that, but at least I had hoped to stay in Paris.” 

“But Rouen is lovely; your mother liked it very much.” Rosamund spoke in a hushed way, as she always did when reminiscing about Gisla’s mother. 

“Yes, at least it is civilized and there is a cathedral. I will take comfort in that.”

“You would have preferred to marry Count Odo? Then you could have stayed in Paris.” Ermengarde turned up her nose to show her opinion of that match.

Gisla only glared. Rosamund intervened quickly. “Ermengarde, go and find her boots and be sure they are polished.” She came and smoothed out Gisla’s hair. “Shall I plait it down the back as you like?”

Gisla nodded her assent and steeled herself for the day to come. 

 

~~

 

Rollo and Sinric were waiting in the hall when she arrived. She noticed that Rollo was wearing his leathers and the fur cloak as before; she wondered if he had any other clothes. Perhaps that was why he fought without a tunic. 

Rollo came forward eagerly, smiling warmly as he looked her up and down. “Good morn -- ing,” he intoned, as if it were a chant. He looked so pleased with himself for learning one more greeting. 

She nodded to him curtly, “Good morning. You will accompany me to the morning prayer service, then?”

Sinric translated briefly, and Rollo smiled and replied, “Yes,” in Frankish. 

Gisla tipped her head and started on her way to the chapel. Beside her, the Northman was asking something.

“Do we not break our fast first?”

Did he think of nothing else but food? She gave him a frown and shook her head. “We break our fast after morning prayers. Our Lord Jesus fasted in the wilderness for forty days and nights; can we not fast for a brief hour during morning prayers?”

She saw that Rollo looked a bit crestfallen as Sinric explained, but quickly recovered himself and smiled genially. “Very well.” 

A little while later, they were in the chapel listening to the versicle being read by the bishop. She found that just as she had been during the betrothal ceremony, she was constantly distracted by the hulking heathen beside her. When he wasn’t asking Sinric whispered questions, he was looking all about, surveying the place. He smelled of leather and fur and some other faint scent that she could not identify. Mud or manure, perhaps? And the braids in his lanky dark hair would sometimes sway when he turned. She thought of how he’d been when coming up that ladder – brazen and bloody and wild. How could he fight that way and then think that she would accept him as a husband? How could he imagine that any of them would believe he was really a Christian? Or that he would keep his promises? She shook her head in anger. He should not be here disrupting the service in this way. 

She kept her eye on him all during the service. Part of the time he seemed to be trying to understand and participate, but much of the time he seemed bored and uninterested. Or he was just lost. How could someone like that possibly understand the vast mysteries of the Holy Faith? Perhaps he was just biding his time.

A hymn began and Rollo seemed to take interest, listening carefully and holding up his hand to stop Sinric from translating. When the song had finished, he whispered something to Sinric; Sinric looked embarrassed, but whispered across to her that Rollo liked her singing voice. She shushed him quietly and glared at Rollo for interrupting in church. He gave her a sheepish shrug and adopted a suitably reverent attitude for the psalm that was now being read. When the second psalm began, he muttered something under his breath, but quickly recovered when he saw that she was looking at him. She gave her attention to the responsory and noticed that he seemed more interested in this. He held up his hand to Sinric to stop translating and just listened. A couple of times, the responses of the congregation repeated, so the next time, he was prepared to join in. Well, he wasn’t a complete imbecile then. But he seemed to lose interest again after that. 

During the Lord’s Prayer, she recited it with everyone else, but when the words, “Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors” were spoken, Gisla glanced at Rollo and then down at her feet, wondering how she could ever forgive the great trespass that these barbarians had made on their Christian land. How could God forgive that? Did He expect her to forgive them? Would she be forgiven if she could not forgive them? Her attention returned to the prayer with the words, “Deliver us from evil.” Evil indeed.

The service finished with the Doxology which Sinric translated for Rollo. He nodded and listened, but then just seemed to be glad that the service was over. Gisla felt her shoulders droop as if a heavy cloak had been laid on them. The service always brought her peace and strength for the coming day, but now she just felt disappointed and disgusted – with him and with the whole situation. She noticed her father as he was filing out of the chapel, and he caught her eye and smiled at Rollo, who bowed and smiled back at him. Gisla shook her head in frustration.

And to make it worse, Rollo now turned to ask Sinric something, repeating the words “Holy Ghost.” Then Sinric was explaining what was meant by the Holy Ghost. Did this man not even understand the most basic of Christian concepts, the Holy Trinity?

She turned to them, and said sharply, “Perhaps if you do not understand these things, you should be schooled in them by someone of the Church. I am sure the bishop will happily assign a priest to this task.” 

Rollo looked at her in surprise, then glanced to Sinric. As Sinric explained and understanding dawned on Rollo, she saw an uncertain look pass over his face before he nodded, and acquiesced. She was slightly surprised that he would agree to it, but she did not wait for further discussion, instead heading over to the bishop to make arrangements.

 

~~

 

“She is arranging it now? Have we not spent enough time in church today?” The service had been long, with reading after reading that Rollo didn't understand, even with Sinric’s translations. He had tried to follow, to understand and learn, but it was overwhelming. 

Sinric grimaced, “Apparently not – look, there is a priest coming.” 

Sure enough, Gisla was returning to them with an older man in tow. He was dressed much more simply than the bishop, looking, in fact, much like Athelstan had when they’d first captured him. He held a book and a cross on a chain. Rollo looked at the cross with suspicion. He recalled Ragnar’s fondness for Athelstan’s cross. Was he expected to wear one? He fingered the wolf pendant under his tunic and wondered if he’d offend the gods if he began wearing a cross as well. And would he offend the Christian god if he still wore the symbol of his Fylgja?

Confusion – and hunger – plagued him. “Can we not eat first?” While he had sometimes worked or trained before the day-meal at home, he often nibbled on some bread and cheese to break his fast before going out. 

Gisla looked as if she wanted to say no, but Rollo spotted the king waiting in the hallway for them and looking impatient. A servant scurried over to tell the princess something and she reluctantly said, “My father has invited you to join us at breakfast. He asks that we hurry to him now.” 

“Excellent, thank you.” Rollo glanced at the servant and the king gratefully, but seeing that Gisla was looking peeved, gave her a sheepish smile. “I will learn much faster on a full stomach, I assure you.”

Gisla ignored him and addressed the priest. “Father Liudhard, will you be ready for this…ah… my betrothed, when we are finished breaking our fast?”

The priest nodded and they filed out to the king’s dining hall.

After a satisfying meal, Rollo found himself back in the chapel, being led to a little side room with a table and chairs. The book and the cross were on the table. Rollo was seated across from the priest with Sinric by his side to translate, and the lesson began. Rollo fired off his first question.

“What is the Holy Ghost?” 

It seemed to irritate the priest that Rollo started the lesson; he gave a little impatient “harumpf,” but started to explain.

“The Holy Ghost is part of the Holy Trinity. There is God the Father, God the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”

“Yes, yes, I have heard that. I understand the father and the son – they are like Odin, the “All-father” and his sons. But what is this ‘Holy Ghost’?”

The priest frowned when he heard that Rollo had compared the Christian Trinity to his pagan gods, but took a breath and explained carefully more about the Trinity. Rollo thought he understood. It seemed to be something like the Norns of Norse belief. Of course, the Norns were goddesses while the Trinity seemed to be made up of gods, aside from this Holy Ghost that seemed to be some spirit power, like the Fylgjur he was familiar with. Again, he fingered his wolf pendant and contemplated. Would the gods approve of his becoming more deeply involved in the Christian faith? Surely the seer would not have foreseen this future for him if it hadn’t been meant to be. So the gods must be behind it. There must be room for the Christian god along with his own. Ragnar must have been right – and Floki must have been wrong.

He thought about other things that he’d already wondered about the Christian god. “So, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Is that all? Are there no other gods?” 

Sinric seemed to be suppressing amusement as he translated this and the priest looked slightly scandalized before shaking his head and replying brusquely, “No, there is only one God, God the Father.”

“But you said there were three.”

Father Liudhard sighed, “The Three in One. The Trinity.”

“But then how could the Father have a Son? If there is only one God. And did he only have one son?”

The priest was now glaring at him and Sinric was looking rather guilty for having been the messenger of all these questions. “Of course he has only one son. The Lord Jesus Christ.”

Rollo was more confused than before. He shook it off. “Very well, but you would think that for such a powerful god, he would want more sons.” He thought of Ragnar, marrying again to have many sons. That made him wonder. He thought of all of the wives that Odin had and all of the sons and daughters. “Who was the mother of this son? Was she a goddess?” 

The priest looked shocked and shook his head emphatically. “There are no goddesses in the Christian faith.”

“No goddesses? Then who do people pray to for fertility or consolation?” 

Father Liudhard was frustrated. “Ahem, well, they do not pray directly for such things, but do ask the intercession and blessing of various saints. Women may pray to Saint Anne for the blessing of the conception of a child.”

“Ah, so ‘saints’ are like goddesses?”

“No, no, I said there are no goddesses. Saints are very holy people; they are venerated because of their likeness to God.”

This sounded an awful lot like the less powerful gods and goddesses. Some of them walked the earth with men as these saints seemed to do. “Where do they come from? Are they sent to earth by God?”

“Well, the angels were sent by God. They are also saints.”

“What are angels?”

“They are messengers of God; He sends them to give news or comfort to people. They may be guardians of the people.” 

“Ah, the Light Elves!”

Sinric burst out laughing, and the priest threw up his hands in disgust. Sinric quickly explained something to the priest and the man shook his head disdainfully. “Angels are not _elves_! You cannot be comparing everything to your pagan ways!”

Rollo didn’t see why not, but he conceded, albeit reluctantly. “Very well. But I still want to know who was the mother of the son of god? If she wasn’t a goddess, what was she?”

The priest, seeming vexed, answered his question and Sinric translated stoically. “She was a saint. An ordinary woman who was found worthy by God to be the mother of Christ. She was visited by an angel who told her that she would bear a child who would be the Son of God and who would be the savior of the people.”

“Ah, so God came to earth to lie with this woman so she could bear the son of god.”

“No, no! She was a virgin. It was a virgin birth.”

“How is that possible?” 

“The Holy Spirit came upon her.”

“Ah, then the Holy Ghost was the father.”

“Yes, well, no, not exactly.” The priest gave a great sigh and Sinric waited patiently until the man was ready to continue. “Can we not just say that the mother of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was a very holy woman who became a saint? It was a special birth, conceived of God.”

“As you say.” Rollo was growing tired of the priest’s attitude. He tightened his fists under the table, forcing back the desire to throttle this _holy man_. He wouldn’t win over Gisla if he did that. But how was he to learn these things if he could not ask and was rebuked for his way of trying to understand? He found himself thinking more fondly of Athelstan. As far as he could remember, Athelstan had always been extremely patient in answering all of Ragnar’s questions. Perhaps Rollo should have listened to him too. “Sinric, tell him that I have one more question. Why was this son of god so important? You told me that it is this ‘Christ’ who is depicted on the cross in the chapel. Ask him about that.” 

At this the priest looked relieved. “The crucifix. Yes, this is very important. This is the center of all Christian belief. That Christ died on the cross as our savior.” 

“So the Christian god let his son be killed – on a cross?” He recalled Athelstan’s story of how the English had punished him for joining the Northmen’s fight. He’d been tortured in this way before Ecbert had released him. Rollo remembered that whole period darkly. He could still feel those horses trampling over him and the pain of waking and seeing Athelstan bending over him, tending him. “Why would he do that?”

“The Holy Scripture says, ‘For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.’ That is how Jesus came to be sacrificed on the Cross.”

Rollo thought on this. It sounded much like the story of how Odin sacrificed himself on the world-tree Yggdrasil to gain the wisdom of the runes. The cross seemed to be like the world-tree. Surely it could not anger the gods if he were to honor a god who was so much like Odin himself – and perhaps _was_ Odin, after all. Rollo would have no trouble wearing this cross along with his wolf. The only difference between learning this and the old sagas and poems was that he’d have to learn it in Frankish – and have Sinric translate everything. He settled in to absorb as much of the lesson as possible.

 

~~

 

Gisla had been at the hospital for some time when Rollo and Sinric joined her. She had just come out of the women’s ward and found them, with their palace guide and guards, waiting for her. 

“Good, just in time to visit the men’s ward.”

As they started their walk towards the other side of the hospital, Rollo stopped Gisla. “Do you not wish to hear what I have learned from the priest?” 

He sounded like a small child needing approval from his mother. She kept her face like stone. “Of course.”

“I now better understand what the Holy Ghost is. It is the spirit manifestation of God in men. Not so different from our Norse idea of Fylgja or Vættir.” He looked at her expectantly.

“Ah. Good.” She frowned; surely Father Liudhard had not encouraged Rollo to compare his beliefs to theirs?

“And I learned about the Christ God being killed on the cross – which I wear, see?” He pulled out a chain from his tunic neck to reveal a crucifix. 

“I see.” His brother had worn a cross as well. That did not stop him from killing the archbishop.

Rollo appeared disappointed that she was not suitably impressed. “Well, I understand now all the things that were done during the prayer service this morning. The priest read the – Psalms – again for me. They are like poetry -- very beautiful when explained.”

Gisla was startled. That he could actually appreciate the beauty of the faith was surprising. But perhaps still just a ploy. “All very good. You will understand it better tomorrow, then.”

There. She could see on his face that he was not pleased that they’d have prayer again tomorrow morning. And every morning. He would grow bored and tired of learning their faith, not become truly faithful. She was certain of it. Perhaps he would give up and leave. 

“I don’t see why you always have to pray in church or on your knees before the cross. Why can’t you pray in the woods – or in bed?”

Gisla was shocked. “Those are not places of reverence.”

“And what about in battle? We pray to Odin and Thor for strength and courage when we fight. Did not your Christian soldiers pray when we fought them on the wall?”

She had to admit that they did. She had heard their murmured prayers as she’d passed through their ranks with the Oriflamme. And she herself had called on the power of God through the sacred banner during the battle. But what was he saying now?

“I also learned this; ‘Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.…’”

He had learned the Lord’s Prayer – how could he do that in only one morning of lessons? In Frankish, no less? 

“…and forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors…”

She listened as he finished the prayer with only a few errors and corrections on Sinric’s part. Her surprise must have been apparent, for Sinric smiled and said, “Rollo is very good at memorizing and reciting verses.”

Rollo seemed to be enjoying her surprise. “Did I not tell you I could recite our sagas and poems? Why should I not learn yours?”

She could hardly stand it. “As you should. Well, now we will go to the men’s ward. Perhaps you can recite the prayer to the ill.”

“Happily.” He strode by her side and truly did seem happy. She would never understand this strange foreigner: how could he be at one time a bloodthirsty beast and now an acquiescent puppy?

 

~~

 

Rollo walked with Gisla around the ward as she visited the wounded. She went from bed to bed, chatting with each man, asking him how he was and about his family. Her warmth and compassion towards them seemed genuine. She knew the men and called each by name. 

As they passed from one room into another, he asked her, “How do you know them so well? You seem to know all their names.”

She replied sharply, “Do you not know the names of your men? The men who fight around you? These are the palace guard; they protect me and the castle every day. Of course I know them!”

“Yes, of course. I had not thought.” Rollo was chagrinned; why should she be any different than the women back home? Did not Siggy or Aslaug know all the men’s names? Well, maybe not all of them, but the majority? “You are very dedicated.” She grudgingly acknowledged his compliment and went on.

As they passed through the ward, he noticed that there were children around many of the cots. They did not seem to be ill, but hovered around the men. 

“Why are there so many children here? They are not sick or wounded, are they?”

Gisla looked pained to answer. “They are the children of these men. There was a plague in the city during the siege and it took many of the families. They have no one to care for them at home. So the church has taken them in; they spend much of their time with their fathers. One only prays that they will live to return home with them.”

Rollo nodded. He wished there was something he could do for the children. He put his hand in his tunic pocket and recalled that he had all those dragées that he’d swiped from the dinner table last night.

Rollo pulled one of the sweets out and offered to the child nearest him. The girl looked at the treat and her eyes lit up. But then she saw who was offering it to him, and became fearful. She looked to her father and to the princess for permission. The man glanced at Gisla, who seemed surprised, but quickly smiled and nodded to both father and child. The girl snatched the candy from Rollo’s hand with a smile of delight and popped it into her mouth. She giggled and ducked her head in a sort of bow to him. Rollo smiled back at her. 

Now the other children were looking at him with interest. They too had seemed afraid of him before, as he’d found everywhere he’d gone. At first he liked it when people feared him – it gave him a sense of power. But now he preferred that the children liked him. He reached into his pocket again and brought out more of the treats, and walked about, offering them to the children and making funny faces at them. One by one they accepted and he earned smiles and giggles in return. He thought of his little nephews back in Kattegat and wondered how they were. He missed them. 

He caught Gisla smiling at the children; she clearly loved their smiles as well. Perhaps when they had children she would smile too. 

The monk who had been tending the wounded came to see what was causing all the laughter. Sinric told Rollo that the monk was at first worried that the food was being given to his charges, who had to be careful what they ate. But Gisla intervened and assured him that it was only a small treat for the children that her betrothed had brought. Rollo looked to her to see if he was in trouble and earned himself a nod of approval from her. A feeling of warmth rushed through him. 

As they left the ward, Gisla gave him a look that was the closest thing he’d seen to a smile for him, “Did you plan to bring those treats for the children?”

“No, I did not know they would be here. I only brought them because I like them. A servant brought a bowl of them to my quarters this morning.”

Her pleasant look faded slightly. “My father wants to please you, it seems.” She turned abruptly and went into the hallway to exit the hospital.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viking customs and beliefs:
> 
> Meals: The Vikings had two daily meals, the “dagmál” or “day-meal” which was eaten in the morning about two hours after they’d started the day’s work, around 7 or 8 am, and the "náttmál" or "night meal" which was eaten at about 7 or 8 pm, depending on the length of the days seasonally.
> 
> The Norns are three female divine beings who have more influence over the course of destiny than any other beings in the cosmos. They are comparable to the Fates of Greek mythology. 
> 
> A Fylgja (Fylgjur, plural) is a supernatural being or creature which accompanies a person in connection to their fate or fortune. Female Fylgjur were seen as guardian spirits or ancestral mothers. 
> 
> Vikings prayed to Freyja for fertility, and Hlín for consolation and protection.
> 
> Light Elves are minor gods of nature and fertility; they can help or hinder humans with their knowledge of magical powers. They also often deliver an inspiration to art or music. They are considered to be the “guardian angels” of Norse mythology. 
> 
> The world-tree Yggdrasil is where Odin “sacrificed himself to himself” by hanging for nine days and nights, receiving no form of nourishment from his companions. At the end of this ordeal, he perceived the runes, the magically-charged ancient Germanic alphabet that was held to contain many of the greatest secrets of existence. 
> 
> Catholic customs and beliefs:
> 
> Prayer service: I created the prayer service using elements of the Catholic Liturgy of the Hours. Much of this was created by the 5th century, so I supposed it would be reasonably accurate. The service may have included any or all of these items: reading of psalms, singing of hymns or psalmodies, reading of scripture chapters or lectures, reading or singing of versicles or responsories (call and response verses or songs sung by cantors, individual singers, choirs, and/or the congregation), the Lord’s Prayer, and the Doxology (a short hymn of praise). The version of the Lord’s Prayer varies by time period, so I included lines that would be in existence then. 
> 
> Worshipers would be standing during services since pews weren’t used until close to the Protestant Reformation, and kneeling in public comes with feudalism, which is only starting in the 9th century, so kneelers probably weren’t used in churches yet. The show seems to only have people standing in church, (aside from the king in the Season 4 trailer), so I’m doing the same. 
> 
> Catechism: My use of the term “catechism” for the title is tongue-in-cheek since the term and format seem to date to the 16th century, when the “Roman Catechism” was published under the Council of Trent in 1566. 
> 
> I got the name for Father Liudhard from a list of Frankish male names and from a 6th century Frankish bishop who served in England at Kent. 
> 
> Early Christians wore no crosses, having to hide from persecution, and that when they did, they tended to be plain crosses, rather than crucifixes. Early crucifixes were the larger sort that were put in churches or on stands to pray before. By the late Middle Ages, Roman Catholics, both clergy and laity, were wearing crucifixes. 
> 
> Writing conventions note: in the passages where Rollo is taking his religious training from the priest, I have capitalized “God” and “Son of God” where the priest was speaking, but have left them lower case where Rollo was speaking or thinking. To the priest these are proper nouns and part of the monotheistic “true” religion that he believes in. To Rollo, these are merely additional gods in the pantheon of gods he already believes in.
> 
> The Trinity is not a term that was found in the Bible (not even the word “Bible” is in the Bible), but had become a concept taught as part of Christian doctrine by the 4th century and was elaborated on after that. 
> 
> The Christian practice of praying to Saint Anne doesn’t really come until the 13th century, but she is venerated in a fresco in a church in Rome that dates to the 8th century. Saint Anne was the mother of the Virgin Mary; Mary was believed to have been conceived by “immaculate conception.”
> 
> The Oriflamme, the banner Gisla brings to the wall to inspire the Frankish troops, was originally the sacred banner of the Abbey of Saint Denis, a monastery near Paris. Saint Denis, one of the patron saints of France, was the first bishop of Paris. Legend says that Charlemagne carried the banner to the Holy Land to drive out the Saracens, but the first recorded history of its use in battle is not until 1124. 
> 
> Monks and nuns ran hospitals such as Hotel-Dieu (in Landry, outside of Paris, built in 651) and other cities in medieval Europe. They relied on the patronage of nobility such as Gisla.


	4. The Princess and the Bear in the City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Bear trains with the Franks, and the Princess and the Bear deal with difficult realities in the city. 
> 
> Warning: mature themes
> 
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many warm thanks go out to: 
> 
> [swimmingfox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/swimmingfox/pseuds/swimmingfox%0A), my ever-inspiring beta reader, who continues to give me great ideas and polishes my language.
> 
> [ HeyYouWithTheFace ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyYouWithTheFace/pseuds/HeyYouWithTheFace%0A), my military technical advisor, who helps me keep Rollo's tough masculine side honed.
> 
> [ Windchimed ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Windchimed/pseuds/Windchimed%0A) for her thorough surface edit after all the revisions were in place.  
> 

~~

 

The next morning, Gisla came down expecting to attend the morning prayer service with Rollo. But he was not in the hall when she arrived. Only Sinric was there, sitting on a bench as if waiting to speak to her. He rose as she entered, bowing slightly.

“Where is he? Is he late?”

“No, he is training. Last night he asked for a message to be sent to the king saying that if he is to help defend Paris, he cannot let his fighting skills be dulled while staying at the palace. He asked to be allowed to train with his men somewhere.”

Gisla’s mouth dropped in surprise. “Count Odo was agreeable to this?”

“I suppose so, Your Highness. I saw him below with them.” He turned and indicated the large window in the corridor.

Gisla dipped her head to him and they walked towards the window to observe. Below, she saw men – tunic-less – sparring in the courtyard. They moved quickly, their shields and swords – or axe, as in Rollo’s case – scarcely visible as they thrust and spun. Count Odo stood on the plank overlook that ran around the training yard.

“Why do they fight without their tunics? It is obscene! It’s not even a warm day.” She frowned at Sinric. 

Sinric seemed to be trying to suppress a smile. “It is their way – for some of them, at least. It intimidates their opponents. That someone is brave enough to fight without armor or leather or even a tunic, does it not make their enemies wonder? And they fight like—”

“Crazed bears. I see. Count Odo does not look very happy.” At that very moment, Odo seemed to make some decision, for he turned and strode along the observation deck fencing, and said something to Sir Roland and the palace guard with him. Both men left him quickly.

Sinric noticed Rollo looking around curiously and said briskly, “I should go down; he will be wanting to know what Odo is doing.”

“I will go with you. I too would like to know.”

“No prayer service?”

“I will attend Terce later instead.”

 

~~

 

Down in the training yard, Rollo was in his element. He had been supervising the men as they sparred with swords or short axes and shields. He was just taking a turn in the ring himself, sparring with Gulbrand. It was exhilarating. And a refreshing break from Father Liudhard. He’d just pushed Gulbrand back after a particularly powerful lunge, and stood back to ready himself for the next parry when he noticed Count Odo turn brusquely and speak to his men. He motioned to Gulbrand and they both stopped and watched Odo for a moment. When Odo’s men walked away and the count returned his attention to the Northmen, Rollo shrugged and he and Gulbrand went at it again. 

They fought until they reached an impasse, for they were well matched. They braced arms and laughed together. 

“Ah, Rollo, it’s good to spar again. These past few days have been – delicious,” he commented as he patted his stomach contentedly, “but one more day of sitting around and I might have killed one of the guards just for the sport of it.”

“We can’t have that.” Rollo thumped Gulbrand on the shoulder good-naturedly and offered him a swig of ale. Rollo understood completely; training got his blood up and he too longed for a real fight. 

He turned to organize another round and was surprised to see Gisla arriving with Sinric. What was she doing here? Surely she would have gone on to her prayer service? Her beauty and grace struck him; she was wearing a gown he’d not yet seen, with sleeves the vibrant pink of the willow-herb back home. And today her hair was loose, albeit covered partially with a veil. He smiled at her and was disappointed to receive only a cold glance in return. But as he continued to watch her, he realized that she was trying to avoid looking at him. Perhaps it was because he was without his tunic? He smiled to himself. 

Just then, Sir Roland arrived with more Frankish guards. “What is this, Sinric? Have we been betrayed?” Rollo’s hand tightened on his sword hilt. 

Sinric quickly glanced up at Count Odo, who hadn’t moved from where he’d been observing, and made inquiries of Sir Roland. The two men exchanged a few sentences, and Sinric turned back to Rollo.

“He says that Count Odo has asked that your men and the Frankish guards spar together. That his men can learn how to defend against future attacks better this way.”

Rollo glanced up at Count Odo. The wily man gave him a curt nod and raised his eyebrows as if asking if the arrangement was satisfactory. Rollo looked around the palace guards with Sir Roland. He could tell nothing with those helmets half hiding their eyes. 

“Very well. But no helmets this time. I want to get to know them and their ways first. And they will need to watch carefully and be able to turn quickly.”

Sinric translated this and Rollo watched as the men looked about at each other with unease. Sir Roland nodded, though, and gave an order, so they all removed their headgear. 

Rollo had them line up in two rows. He walked down their ranks, looking them up and down, assessing each man’s strength and quality of arms. He tried to remember what little he’d learned about them during the meals they sometimes attended together. He stopped in front of one man, a stout guard with a mustache. 

“Aren’t you the one who boasted of pushing me off the wall?” Rollo asked stonily. Sinric interpreted briskly.

The man gave Rollo a startled look, glanced about at his comrades, and stammered, “Ye’—yes.”

“And was that true? Are you one of the men who did?” Rollo leaned in and bent to meet the man at eye level, and said severely, “Because I know that it took at least five of you to do it.”

The man swallowed nervously. “Yes. I was one of them.” He looked terrified.

Rollo straightened and nodded. “You took advantage of the fact that I was distracted.” He glanced up at the princess who was watching them closely; then he turned back to the guard. “That was good. It was my mistake. You can be sure that any Northmen who return here won’t make that mistake.” 

The guard breathed a sigh of relief.

“So, I want to see how you would have fought us if more of us had come over that wall. Form up in pairs across the ring and show me how you fight hand-to-hand.” And he could see what he had to work with – and perhaps, against. “Then we will spar together.” He nodded to Sir Roland, who listened carefully to Sinric’s explanation, and gave his men further orders. 

Rollo watched as they started with some simple parry and thrust maneuvers. They were skilled, fought fiercely, and knew how to use their large, curved shields to their best advantage. They were clearly formidable. But they hadn’t the mobility of Northmen with their short axes and round shields. This could be a flaw in close combat. 

After some time, Rollo called a halt and ordered the group to divide into pairs of Northmen and Franks. He called for blunted swords for all the men and reminded the men that their shields, including the edges, could lay a man low as easily as a sword or an axe. 

His own men remained suspicious, but followed his orders. He had warned them to be extra careful, just in case. He supervised, circling the men, calling advice and instruction. As he passed where Gisla was standing, her eyes seemed to be on him and always to turn away from him just as he turned to look at her. 

 

~~

 

The men trained for about a half an hour, rotating men in and out for practice. Gisla found herself watching in a strange fascination. She was at once embarrassed that the men fought half naked, but at the same time wondered about their odd custom. And she could not help noticing that many of the Northmen, including Rollo, had markings on their arms and chests. 

She tried to keep her eyes on her own palace guards, nodding to them when they finished a turn and bowed their heads to her upon her notice. But she kept being drawn back to Rollo. He should not seem so large without his leathers and furs, yet with his broad chest and muscular arms, he seemed massive compared to most of her palace guard. 

And his markings were quite extensive. When she’d seen him on the wall, he’d been covered in blood and roaring like an animal, so she’d not noticed them. They were intricate, even beautiful with their swirling, twining patterns. What could they mean? Such artistry confused her – they seemed hardly the trappings of an utterly wild savage. 

She flushed as he turned her way yet again and caught her gazing at him. She jerked her head away when he turned, focusing her gaze again on one of the Frankish men. It was ridiculous. But she had to admit; it was indeed distracting.

She watched intently as Count Odo called Sinric over and gave him some instructions for Rollo.

 

~~

 

Sinric reported, “Count Odo wants the men to put on their tunics and leathers. He says it’s too distracting for his men to be worrying about hurting them as they are learning your style of fighting.”

“But that’s exactly what they should be learning. Do they think Ragnar’s men will put on their tunics for them when they attack in the spring?” Rollo realized suddenly that he really was training the Franks to kill his brother’s people; maybe even his friends – or Bjorn. He felt a tightening in the pit of his stomach. But his attention was drawn back to what Odo was saying as Sinric began to translate to him.

“No, but he thinks it is a disadvantage during training – and indecent. The princess is here.”

“Ah, is she the one who asked?” Rollo glanced up to find her. She was looking down at her hands. 

“No, she has said nothing since she came down here that I know of.”

“Well, we’ll put them on. What does it matter? They do not listen well to our instructions as it is. I do not think they really want to learn to fight as we do.”

“They defended their walls very well themselves; perhaps it is not needed.”

“I agree. It was not my idea. I think Odo has something else in mind. I have told the men to be careful.”

They sparred for another half an hour with their leathers on and their shields up; if anything, it proved harder for the Franks to cope. After a time, they settled into a pattern and it seemed productive, if tense. Occasionally he stole a glance up to where Gisla was watching and saw her following their movements with interest. 

Rollo rotated in himself, and found that the Frankish men who sparred with him seemed nervous, but trained fiercely. He parried every thrust, though, and used his shield to block those who tried to force their way past it. When one brave Frank darted under his shield, Rollo swept his legs out from under him before he could strike. As the guard lay panting in the dust of the training yard, Rollo put out his hand to help him up. The man peered up at him with confusion and surprise. But he took Rollo’s hand and allowed him to help him to his feet. Rollo clapped his hand on the guard’s shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. There was a flicker of guilt in the man’s eyes before he smiled slightly and nodded. Rollo looked again for Gisla, wondering what she’d think of this, but he was disappointed to find that she had left. 

Sir Roland called his men to order and the training seemed to be over. Rollo saw that the Franks seemed exhausted, while his own men, albeit a bit flushed, were expecting to continue. They guzzled ale and talked animatedly about the training.

Roland approached, dipped his head briefly at Rollo, and asked him something through Sinric.

“We will train like this every day?”

Rollo resisted the urge to stare the man down, keeping his eyes neutral and relaxed. “Certainly. Quite invigorating, no?”

The man looked a little startled by Rollo’s friendly tone. “Yes, yes, it was. Until tomorrow, then.”

After the man was out of hearing, Rollo muttered to Sinric. “And it will end no differently then.”

 

~~

 

The next day – and each day – Rollo and his men trained with the Frankish guards. And each time he reminded his men to stay alert and watch for trickery. When Odo came to watch the session, Rollo watched _him_. The count seemed to have Loki’s eyes, and Rollo wondered what he was planning. He felt sure that Odo wanted him or his men to be injured – either to impair them so that they would seem less valuable to the king, or just to cause an incident that would show that they couldn’t be trusted. But Rollo would be ready for them.

Meanwhile, the later mornings were spent in religious training or prayer, and afternoons were spent at the hospital or walking through the city with Gisla. Meals continued to be rather chilly affairs as Gisla declined making much conversation unless her father insisted. Rollo had mixed feelings about the king’s marked attention to him; he was grateful that the king was friendly to him, but as it seemed to irk Gisla that her father was cordial, he would almost rather than he was not. Rollo often had visions of meals back home in the long house; happy hours spent enfolded in the warmth and comfort of family and friends. He wondered if Ragnar’s ships had returned home; had Ragnar lived? Had Bjorn reunited with his fierce shieldmaiden wife and their little Siggy? 

Rollo did enjoy accompanying Gisla on her walks through the city. She stopped to talk to the people, asking how they were, offering them comfort, kind words, and prayers. She was always escorted by her palace guard and either Sir Roland or Count Odo, but it hardly seemed necessary, for the people appeared to love her. On street after street, in neighborhood after neighborhood, the people came to windows, or out into the street to greet her, bowing, and calling good wishes to her. It made Rollo recall how much people always admired Lagertha back home; it filled him with pride to think that he would have a wife who was as much admired by her people. 

One afternoon, they had stopped on a street to greet a group of well-wishers. Rollo watched with pleasure as Gisla smilingly greeted some children who had brought her flowers. He was himself greeted by some of the people; he nodded graciously, but kept an eye on the rest of the crowd. He noticed that among the people who were coming out of the houses and into the street, there was a man with a surly look on his face. Rollo alerted Halvar and Gulbrand, who were behind him, and stepped between Gisla and the approaching man.

The man stalked right up to him and shouted something that sounded like curses at the princess. Rollo heard Gisla gasp, and he drew his sword. Two of her guards rushed the man and seized him. Rollo made ready to kill him, but Gisla was crying out something from behind him, trying to grab his arm. Rollo saw that her men had paused, though they still held the man, and forced him to his knees.

“Rollo, hold; she wants to talk to him.” Sinric’s voice was urgent.

“Didn’t he just insult her? He was going to attack her!” 

“Yes, and he called her a whore, but she wants to know why. Nothing like this has ever happened before.”

Rollo lowered his sword, but held it ready as he paused to see what was going on. Gisla pushed past him and he glanced about to see if there was other danger. The palace guard had forced the crowd away, encircling the princess and her retinue. None of the onlookers seemed to be armed nor looked particularly hostile, just surprised and curious. He turned his attention back to Gisla and the man. 

“What are they saying?” Rollo leaned down to Sinric who was listening as Gisla talked with the man. Her face was grave as she peered down at the man, still on his knees. The man was jabbering quickly and Rollo could see alternating anger and sadness in his eyes. The man occasionally glanced up at Rollo with hatred, but looked back to Gisla with both anger and shame.

“He says he cursed her because she is marrying you – a heathen, an enemy – when his daughter is disgraced. The princess is to be honorably married, but his daughter…. Wait.” Sinric listened some more to try to understand. The man was speaking to Gisla with venom in his eyes, making Rollo grip his sword tighter and want to strike. “He says that when your men stormed the city, one came into their house and found his daughter there. His daughter was raped.” 

Rollo relaxed his hold on his sword hilt. He should have thought of this. Of course some of the men would have taken women when they raided the city. It was common enough. But they’d never dealt with the consequences before – they’d raided and left. 

Sinric was translating something else. “He says that now she will not be able to marry; that no man will have her this way without an enormous dowry that he cannot afford to pay. The men who raided took all the things of value that they had as well.”

Gisla was saying something in a quiet firm voice to the man. Count Odo, who had also drawn his sword and was flanking the princess on her other side, reacted with alarm and protestation. And Gisla spoke back to him in an equally agitated manner. She called to her guards who were holding the man, and they lifted him to his feet and loosened their hold on him. They allowed him to lead them toward a small house and Gisla followed, Odo still speaking urgently to her.

“What is it, Sinric? What did she say – where is she going?” 

“She told him that the Crown would pay the dowry and that she wanted to meet his daughter and apologize to her.”

“She had nothing to do with that. I should be the one.” A strange feeling of responsibility arose in him.

“Rollo, I doubt the girl will want to see you – or any Northman.”

“Perhaps not, but I will go anyway.” He turned to Halvar and Gulbrand. “Come, but perhaps you should stay outside by the door – make sure the crowd stays back.” The men nodded and turned toward the crowd. They were joined by some of Gisla’s guards.

Rollo and Sinric followed the princess and a few of her men who entered with her. It was a small house, very much like the houses in Kattegat – simple, clean, and orderly, and he was struck by a wave of protectiveness. How strange to feel this about people that he knew so little of.

 

~~

 

As Gisla entered the small house, she found the girl standing next to a large loom, looking startled and embarrassed to be receiving a royal visit.

“Welcome.” Her voice trembled and she glanced nervously over Gisla’s shoulder. Gisla realized with a flush of anger that Rollo had come into the house. She shot him a fierce look that caused him to stop and stand by the door. He dipped his head to her.

Turning back to the terrified girl, Gisla said gently, “That is my betrothed; he will not hurt you.” 

The girl swallowed convulsively, clasped her hands tightly together, and took a deep breath. Then she nodded slightly.

Gisla was moved by the girl’s courage and strength. “Please, you may be seated – I did not mean to interrupt your work. May I know your name?”

The girl did not move. She took another breath and whispered, “I am Joveta.” Giving her name seemed to wake something in her. She said shyly, “I should offer you some wine –”

“No, thank you. You are very kind, Joveta. I am here to speak to you. Your father told me a little about what happened.” Gisla spoke as calmly as she could. She was seething inside.

The girl turned red, put her head down. “He should not have spoken to you. I begged him not to.”

“No, I am glad that he did; I should know of these things. Please, tell me what happened.”

The girl hesitated and glanced about, frightened. But when she looked back again at Gisla, she seemed to become emboldened. “Men – like him,” she said, pointing to Rollo, “were running all through the streets and people were afraid, barring their doors and hiding. I could not find my father, so I did the same, but a man broke through the door anyway. I hid back behind the loom, but he was searching our house and found me. He grabbed me and pushed me down on that pile of linens there and….” Joveta’s voice had dropped to a whisper and she looked down at her hands.

Gisla put her hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. That is terrible.”

The girl choked back a sob. “And I was foolish. After. I went crying to the neighbor and told her what happened.”

“Why was that foolish? Of course you should seek comfort.” 

“Because soon everyone knew – and I had been going to marry before, but now my betrothed won’t have me! He said I was spoiled – that he couldn’t marry a girl who might be carrying a pagan’s brat. And Father says that no one else will have me either. All because of _them_! How can you marry one of them – one of the _enemy_ ?” Joveta spoke bitterly through her tears, then realized what she had said and clapped her hand over her mouth in horror. 

Gisla looked down at her hands and grew very still. She shook her head. “It wasn’t my choice.” 

They were both silent for a few moments and Gisla could hear Sinric translating behind her, recalling her to her mission here. “I came here because I can, perhaps, help a little. The Crown can provide you a dowry, so you may be able to marry.”

Joveta’s eyes brightened for a moment, then became downcast again. “Thank you, Your Highness, that is most generous. But I doubt that anyone will want to marry me anyway.”

“Well, you shall have the dowry and you can use it to live on if you do not marry. But surely it will not be so hopeless as that.” 

Joveta shook her head slightly and murmured, “I don’t know.”

Her father spoke up just then. “She is not the only one; there are other women on this very street who were attacked – and more on other streets.” He looked around nervously. “Not all will admit it, of course. What will be done for them?”

Gisla assured him that the Crown would pay for them too, but Count Odo interjected quietly, “Your Highness, the Crown cannot pay every woman in the city for such things; every woman who got with child out of wedlock would be coming to the Crown for support.”

Gisla grew livid. “Count Odo, this – thing – happened to these poor women because we were foolish and allowed those barbarians into our city. We must relieve their suffering as we can.”

Odo started to reply, but Gisla had become aware that Rollo was doing more than listening. She turned to him and asked bitterly, “What do you have to say about this?" 

Sinric translated quickly and Rollo replied. “In the North, there would be a council. Such grievances are heard by the king or the earl, and witnesses give their statements. The leader decides the truth of the case and if he believes it is true, awards the woman support by the man who aggrieved her. Or he may order the man to marry her, if she is willing.”

“Marry her attacker?” Gisla snapped to Sinric, then shook her head and glared at Rollo. 

Rollo grimaced, and continued, “Well, such cases in our villages are not usually like this; they are usually…less violent. The woman was taken advantage of; she might have been drunk; the man is held responsible.”

“This girl was not _willing_. None of these women were! And none of them would want marriage with those men! _Would_ they?” She turned to the girl and her father. 

The girl looked fearful and shook her head emphatically. The father started to shake his head, but then said in a low voice, “No, most girls would not want such a marriage; there are some older women – widows – who will never be able to remarry now, so they might prefer to marry those men, if they will provide for them. Especially if they got with child.” He whispered the last bit, and lowered his eyes from Gisla’s gaze.

Gisla shook her head in shock. 

Sinric had leaned in to catch what the man was saying. He pulled back to tell Rollo, then translated Rollo’s reply.

“In this case, I think it will be hard to find the men who are responsible. Most of them have left for the North with my brother. But our people will support those women – and some other men may be found who want wives and will marry them if they wish.” 

Gisla was speechless. The very idea that these poor women might feel compelled to marry men like those who harmed them! She caught Rollo’s eye, wanting to blame him, but he had turned to discuss something with Sinric. Her head was in a blur as she heard vaguely the details that Rollo, Odo, and the girl’s father were arranging. This was impossible! And yet, it suddenly dawned on her that her case was little different – she was being forced to marry one of their attackers. She’d not been physically violated of course, but – she shuddered to think of the wedding night to come. It might be very much the same. She clasped her hands to her chest to force back the panic that rose in her. She could feel the cross that she wore under her gown; it helped to calm her.

As she composed herself, she noticed that the girl looked frightened too. She moved closer to her and tried to reassure her with her presence and a light touch. 

The arrangements seemed to be completed without another word from her; she could not have spoken just then even if she had tried. Odo suggested that it was time they returned to the palace and Gisla nodded her assent. As she started to leave, she found she wanted to do something more for the girl. Something personal. She cast about for something and recalled the cross. She slipped it over her head and pressed it into the girl’s hands, closing her own hands around Joveta’s trembling ones. “God bless you,” she whispered. “May this bring you comfort as it has me.”

The girl looked at the gift, and at Gisla with surprise and gratitude, tears running down her cheeks. Gisla suppressed her own tears and turned to leave the house. She could not even look at Rollo or Count Odo as they left the house. But she was seething as they returned down the street towards the palace. A thought had begun needling her and yet she was afraid of the answer if she dared to ask. 

As Count Odo and her guards moved ahead of them, leaving Rollo and Gisla to walk together as they’d done during most of their city walks, she suddenly could bear it no longer. She blurted out, “And you? Have you done such things during your raids? Perhaps even here?”

Rollo looked surprised at her outburst and looked immediately to Sinric. Sinric was clearly ill at ease in translating her question, but did so. Rollo grew very somber and thoughtful before answering. She felt she knew what his answer would be even before Sinric gave it.

“Not here. But in the past, I have, yes. It is what men do in battle sometimes.” His eyes were unapologetic. 

Gisla turned away and said nothing more. What else had she expected?

They walked back to the palace in silence; at least he had the good grace not to expect that she would wish to speak to him. She could scarcely stand to be near him. She asked her father to be excused from supper; she pleaded a sour stomach and retired to her rooms. In truth, she could not eat for the grief of it all. 

When Rosamund asked her what was troubling her, Gisla explained briefly, breaking down in tears as she spoke of the poor girl. Rosamund sat on the bed beside her, stroked her hair, and tried to comfort her. “You did what you could for her; at least some amends are made.”

“Yes, but there are so many others – we may not even know of them all. And – and –” She gave a sob, and then whispered what she’d learned about Rollo himself. 

Rosamund patted her on the back gently. “That too is…difficult…to hear. But Gisla, he is right; even our own men do such things in war. My husband hinted that to me long ago.”

At that, Gisla buried her head in the pillows and bade Rosamund to leave her alone. There seemed to be no comfort to be had. She gave in to her tears then, wishing only for oblivion. But it did not come. She could only lie there thinking of the futility of the situation.

Gisla turned onto her back and stared blankly at the ceiling. What could she do? How could she possibly marry him now? She was mortified to think that only a few days ago, she had been drawn to stare at his bare chest with all its pagan markings. Now she couldn’t bear the thought of looking at him that way, let alone being married to him. 

Could she convince her father to break the betrothal now? Or could she just refuse to say the marriage vows? But she had already taken the vows of betrothal; could she break them? And her father would no doubt find some way to force the marriage anyway. 

She thought of the wedding night; Rollo would come to her and expect her to let him…. But no, she would refuse him. Would he force her? Why should she expect kind treatment after the way the poor women of Paris were treated? 

But if he did—she had a sudden flash of bitter hatred. She would kill him. A picture formed in her mind: she’d wait until he was asleep, lying there with his chest bare, the strange markings on his shoulders dancing like evil spirits in the candlelight; then she’d take her dagger and cut his throat. 

She found the thought oddly comforting. But could she really do it? The Holy Book said, “Thou shalt not kill.” But he was her enemy – surely it was no different than her soldiers defending the wall. And he’d killed so many of her brave Frankish soldiers. She again saw herself hovering over Rollo with the knife.

It was no use. She could not bring herself to lower the knife — not even in her imagination. She knew that if she was successful — and there was no guarantee that she would be — it would just bring down more violence and grief upon her people. 

No, she must set her mind to doing what was best for the people of Paris. She would make sure that the dowries were paid and that the hospital continued to be endowed. And she would find a way to escape this marriage. 

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical and Cultural notes:
> 
> The use of “Your Highness” in this chapter (and upcoming chapters) reflects the more common usage of peerage titles found in literature and historical sources. The show has been using “Imperial Highness” and “Your Majesty” with the king, but so far only “Princess” with Gisla, which really wouldn’t be correct except in front of her name as a title, as would “King Charles.” According to the online source, “Peerage Titles and Address,” the correct expression for a prince or princess would be “Your Royal Highness,” but I’m simplifying it for less formal situations.
> 
> Willow-herb – The flower Rollo is reminded of when seeing Gisla’s dress is shown [here](http://www.scandinavianmountains.com/flora-fauna/plants-purple/rosebay-willowherb.htm).
> 
> Frankish warriors – I was glad that the show made the Franks out to be strong fighters because they had a long military tradition, which went back to when they were a Germanic tribe in the 3rd century AD and lived in Roman Gaul, eventually ruling it when Clovis I united it. While known to be powerful fighters in their own right – seen as some of the most ferocious of their time – they learned from their time with the Romans, served in the Roman army, and used their tactics. They were known for being good at storming, taking, and fortifying positions. 
> 
> The Franks were well-armed and equipped during the Merovingian dynasty (451-751), with breast plates, chain mail, greaves (leg armor), and advanced helmets more common than in many of the Germanic tribes of that time, and this improved during the Carolingian empire (751-843). They used axes as well as swords, and often were equipped with spears as we see the guards in the palace carrying. Unlike the shields used by the Frankish guards in the show, which are more rectangular in shape and curve around the body somewhat, what archeological evidence that has been found from the 8th and 9th centuries indicate that the Franks carried round shields much like the Vikings and the Saxons. Carolingian illustrators apparently relied on Roman depictions of battles, so drawings of soldiers with shields show the Roman style. 
> 
> The show seemed to merge several Viking attacks on Paris and the region around it. The one that Ragnar supposedly participated in was in 845; there was another in 885-886, in which Count Odo defended Paris and was thereafter elected king, and Rollo was left behind with troops much as was done in the show. But the treaty made between Charles the Simple and Rollo came in 911. So the Frankish soldiers defending the Paris of the show could have had experience fighting the Vikings depending on when the show is actually supposed to be set. 
> 
> Loki – the wily trickster god 
> 
> A sensitive subject during any period, rape was treated much differently in the Middle Ages. The violation was seen as more of a trespass on the property of the fathers or husbands of the victims rather than the women themselves. So compensation paid to the men, especially if it made the woman more marriageable, was often the requirement. Depending on the time and place, there were sometimes severe penalties on the books, including mutilation or even death, but they were rarely imposed; fines were the preferred punishment. And women were sometimes made to marry their attackers; at times it was more as Rollo suggests, that the woman was taken advantage of, but might not actually object to being honorably married to the man in question. Or there were times that the woman was “abducted” (which is the actual origin of the term “rape;” it meant “to seize”), which might only be a euphemism for when a couple ran away together against the wishes of their families. It was assumed that the woman’s virtue was compromised in such a situation, so the only remedy was marriage. In some cases rape was only considered a crime if it happened to a virgin; her loss of virginity meaning that she was less desirable for marriage, and was seen as a trespass to her father. More cases of “attempted rape” were brought to court than actual rape, probably because if a woman admitted she’d been raped, she would be announcing that she was no longer a virgin, and could not easily marry. So no doubt a large percentage of rapes went unreported or prosecuted. 
> 
> Widows were sometimes actually blamed for rape; as if they had enticed the men because they were experienced. And the medieval belief was that if a woman got pregnant, it couldn’t be rape because she had to have “enjoyed it” (had an orgasm). They believed that both the man and the woman had to have orgasms for a woman to conceive. Wacky science. Ironically, it may have meant that men would have tried harder to make sex pleasurable for their wives during that period. Article [here](http://medievalists.net/files/11020201.pdf).


	5. The Princess and the Bear in the Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gisla receives two unexpected proposals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks as ever to my wonderful story editors and advisors, swimmingfox and HeyYouWithTheFace, and to my copy editor, windchimed.
> 
> Posted on my birthday -- this is my present to my readers. :)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~
> 
>  

~~

Gisla could not sleep, so went to attend Compline. She rarely attended night prayers, but hoped the service would bring her some peace after the horrors of the day and from the turmoil in her mind. She was returning to her apartments, somewhat consoled, when Count Odo appeared from behind one of the pillars in the corridor, startling her. 

“Count Odo, what are you doing here?” 

“Forgive me, Princess, I did not mean to alarm you. But I wished to speak to you in private.”

Gisla glanced about, wondering if this was quite proper, but she had spoken to Odo in private many other times. She nodded her assent, and he stretched his hand out to indicate an alcove along the corridor. 

“Well?” 

“Princess, after today’s revelations, I see more clearly than ever how you must hate the thought of being shackled to that savage.”

Gisla was gratified to find that someone else was like-minded. She had not thought that Odo would defy the king even in thought. She nodded and said hesitantly, “But there is nothing to be done for it. We are betrothed before God; it is what my father wants.”

Odo stepped a bit closer to her and said in a low voice, “What if there was another way?”

Gisla’s mouth dropped. “Another way? You will convince my father to break the betrothal, the treaty? If I could not do so, will he listen to you?” She knew that her father was somewhat short-tempered with Odo’s counsel of late.

“No, he will not – believe me, I have tried.”

Perhaps that was why her father was so impatient with her own repeated pleas. “Thank you. But then what? I don’t see what can be done.”

“Well, I had thought of killing the barbarian – the whole group of them here in the palace.”

Gisla gave a perfunctory sound of shock and her vision from earlier returned to her momentarily. But just as quickly her resolution returned as well. “That would not work; the horde would just attack again in vengeance under a new leader -- and Father would no doubt try to marry me to him to stop them.”

“Yes, I see that you are right in that. Which is why I have put aside that plan. But I have another.” He looked about to assure himself that no one else had appeared. “I can take you away from here to meet with your uncles in the east.”

This did surprise her. “You have been in contact with them? They would not answer my father’s appeals.”

“No, but this would be different. They want more say in how the west is ruled. If we treat with them, as….” He hesitated, and leaned in towards her. “…As husband and wife, give them what they want, they will help us expel these infidels.” 

Gisla drew back from him. Of course, he had not given up wanting to marry her himself. Always before she had put him off, knowing her father did not like him well enough to make him his son-in-law. But now it could be her own choice. That thought clouded her thoughts for a moment until the full realization of what he was suggesting dawned on her. 

“You want to rule Paris. You would overthrow my father and rule yourself.”

“With you by my side.” There was a glint in his eye. 

“This is madness – betray my father?”

“Has he not betrayed you? Marrying you to a heathen?”

Of course she had thought this a dozen times from the first moment her father had told her of his plan. 

“You know I am right.”

“Yes, I have thought so myself. But that does not make it right to betray him. It is his right to betroth me to whom he wishes.” She found herself confused; was she defending her father?

“Of course, within reason. But to our enemy? Think, Gisla, if you marry me, we can win over your uncles and keep Paris.” Clearly he knew her weakness for the city.

“Even if my conscience could allow me to break faith with my father, how could I expect the people of Paris to forgive me? They would despise me! And you!”

“No, think on it. Think of what happened today – they hate that you will marry their enemy. They would welcome you married to a Frank – and one who defended Paris as well.”

This gave her pause. He could be right. The people did admire him; he received nearly as many smiles and accolades as she did when they walked through the city. But would they forget her father, the grandson of Charlemagne, named for the great leader himself? And could she? Despite her anger and dismay at what he’d done, he was still her father. She recalled his affection for her mother, how happy they all were together. Could she put all that aside?

At that moment, as if sensing her weakness, Odo took her arm. “Princess Gisla, you see I am right. Join with me and I can arrange for us to leave tomorrow. We can be married soon after and travel to the east.”

His touch, a breach of etiquette, shocked her out of her indecision. She pulled away and said coldly, “I cannot do what you suggest. I cannot betray my father. I am shocked that you could be so disloyal to him. And I cannot marry you, I—” A shadow of a thought crossed her mind. What had her maids been whispering about him? She had brushed it aside and dismissed it as ridiculous court twaddle. But slips of it had been repeated. “I have heard things…whispered about you.”

His eyes grew somber, then impatient. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. There are always rumors at court. You are only being too proud; you think you are too good for me. This is a perfect solution.” He reached for her arm again, “Come, let’s make the arrangements.” 

Gisla tried to pull away and began to berate him, when out of the shadows, unheard and unseen by both of them, a large figure came out and stepped between them. 

 

~~

 

Rollo had wished for a little solitude after such a trying day. Gisla had been so cold and unresponsive as they’d walked back to the palace and had been so quick to excuse herself from the evening meal that for once he had found himself with little appetite. He had seen her leave to go to late evening prayer and he’d not accompanied her. 

He wondered if all was lost; surely Gisla would convince her father that the treaty – and the marriage – was a terrible mistake. The look she had given him after he’d admitted his own actions. She would surely never warm to him now, would she? How could he convince her that he was not that sort of man now. He’d not even wanted another woman after Siggy had died; indeed, he’d kept himself as chaste as a priest since then. He had wallowed in guilt after she’d died and had sworn to himself that if he was ever with a woman again, he would treat her properly. He longed to tell Gisla, to explain that he would never hurt her, that he would honor her as his wife. But she would never believe him.

But the seer – he spoke so certainly. He foresaw this marriage, so it must still be fated. Rollo would find a way to break through Gisla’s hatred and disgust. 

He had already been through the gardens and all around the palace grounds once and was sitting on one of the benches in a corridor alcove. He was thinking of going out again when he caught sight of Gisla and Count Odo slipping into another alcove. He could hear them speaking quietly and wondered what they were talking about. No doubt more about the events of the day. He sighed to himself. He’d tried to resolve that as honorably as possible; what more could he do?

He did not wish to disturb them, so intended to wait until they’d finished before leaving the hallway. But their voices had risen and sounded agitated. He got to his feet and stole down the corridor to approach them. Just as they came into view, he saw Odo grasp Gisla’s arm and say something to her in an angry, firm voice. Without thinking, Rollo reached for his sword and stepped between them. 

Count Odo stumbled back, exclaiming in shock at Rollo’s appearance. He drew his own weapon and Rollo made ready. But behind him, Gisla was saying something and for the second time today, he realized she was trying to stop him from his intended kill. He kept his weapon raised; Odo, his eyes wary, waited to see what Gisla would do.

Gisla came around him, and faced Odo. She put her hand up to Rollo as to stay his actions. She said something in a crisp, clipped tone to Odo and the man bowed to her, gave Rollo a glare, and walked away abruptly. Rollo glanced about to be sure none of Odo’s men were lurking, then lowered his weapon. Gisla was glowering at him now. What had he done? Hadn’t he just protected her from whatever Odo was trying to do?

“What is wrong? What did he want?”

Gisla let loose a torrent of words that he didn’t understand. And he really didn’t understand her anger at him at this moment. He wished Sinric was here. He shook his head at her.

“Why are you mad at me?” 

She did not answer, but gave him a look seething with resentment and stalked away. 

~~

Gisla stormed off to her rooms, furious that Rollo had dared to interrupt her discussion with Count Odo. She did not need Rollo to protect her from him! She could deal with Odo. But what Odo had suggested was treason; she would have to tell her father. But it was late; her father retired early. She doubted that he would admit even her at this hour. She resolved to go straight to her father before morning prayers and tell him about Odo.

After a restless night, Gisla rose early. She summoned Rosamund, dressed quickly, and hurried to her father’s chambers. 

Her father had just finished dressing when Gisla arrived. He looked a bit impatient when she asked to speak to him before the morning service. 

“Now Gisla, you will please not tell me yet again how you cannot marry Rollo. He has converted, is being trained in the church, is training our men just as we requested.”

Gisla stopped short. “Father, that was not what I came to speak to you about. Something happened last night that you must know about. With Count Odo.”

“Odo was here last night and told me all about it.”

Gisla’s mouth fell open. “He was? He did?” 

“Yes. A nasty business in the city yesterday. But he did right, arranging dowries for the women. The Crown can afford to be generous in this way.”

“But…that is what he told you?” She wanted to tell him that it was she who insisted on dowries for the girls, but it seemed beside the point at the moment. Where was Odo? Did he think she would say nothing?

“Yes. Well, and he said you were understandably upset at being insulted by such a man in the street, but were very gracious to his poor daughter. I applaud you for showing such strength of bearing.”

No doubt he would have fainted should such a thing have happened to him. She shook her head in frustration. “But Father, there is more.”

“Odo has left for a time. He did not wish to trouble you with it. He has family business on his lands that are pressing.”

“Oh, Father, he lied to you! He said he would go to your brothers – he would betray you.”

“My Gisla, you surely have misunderstood him. He will be going to have talks with my brothers about some business I have sent him on.”

“No Father, I did not misunderstand. He asked me to go with him – as his wife! I refused him, of course.” 

“Oh? Did he? I suppose it would be surprising if he did not at least try one last time to win your hand. But you were a good, loyal girl. You will marry this Rollo and seal our pact.” Her father turned and called for his attendants. “Now, Gisla, it is time for morning prayer service; we mustn’t keep the good bishop waiting.”

“But Father….” Gisla was suddenly aware that it would do no good to say more. Her father wouldn’t believe her about Odo and wouldn’t care about Rollo. Nothing had changed. She almost wished she _had_ gone with Odo, just to spite her father — and Rollo. She watched as her father swept from the room, leaving her behind without another thought. 

She followed him slowly to the prayer service, knowing that this morning she would find no peace there.

 

~~

 

Later, Gisla was on her way to the hospital, attempting to visit without Rollo, when she saw him striding purposefully towards her, Sinric hurrying after him. “Princess Gisla, I want to speak to you.”

She stopped and waited. 

“I know how upset you are about what happened to those women.”

She just stared at him. Was it not obvious that she was upset?

“I cannot change the past.”

She just shook her head slowly. 

“But I have sworn to help pay the dowries to them. And I have sworn to protect Paris – and Rouen – from another such attack. That is all I can do.”

“That is not all you can do. You could take your men and leave Paris — and Frankia. You could go back to your brother and convince him not to attack us again.”

Rollo smiled sadly at her. “You do not know my brother. He will not listen to me. If he is determined to attack, he will do so, with or without me. The only difference will be that instead of my men being on your side, helping to defend Paris, they will be on his side, trying to take it.”

With a sinking heart, Gisla realized that he was right. But she gave him a defiant look and turned on her heel to go into the hospital.

 

~~

 

Some days passed with the routine continuing as it had been established, but Gisla no longer walked through the city. She spent her afternoons at the hospital or sewing with her ladies. Rollo accompanied her to the hospital, but she ignored him when he played with the children and devoted all her attention to the patients. When he asked about why she no longer walked through the city, she answered only to Sinric that it was getting close to the wedding so she and her ladies must finish preparing her wedding things. Rollo wondered at this; would a princess need to sew her own things? He saw that she wanted an excuse to avoid him; he knew no way around it aside from involving her father, which she would despise him for, so he took the hint. He spent more time in the training yard; Halvar was always ready to spar with him, but no amount of sparring would win this battle.

At meals things were just as cold and distant. Gisla spoke only when her father spoke to her. When Rollo or anyone else tried to talk to her, or asked her if she was well, she politely said that she had a headache or that she was preoccupied with the wedding arrangements. Rollo began to despair of ever winning her over. 

He confided in Sinric. “I don’t know what to do anymore. They prepare for the wedding, but how can I marry her when she loathes me more now than she did when we first met?” 

“You want to break the treaty? That is what will happen. It will mean war again.”

“No, I don’t want that. But…the wedding night. She will surely not wish my… attentions now.” He sighed. “Not that she ever did.”

Sinric said nothing, but gave a slight raise of eyebrows and a nod.

“Shall I forebear? Wait until we get to know each other better? When we are in Rouen and these things are behind us?”

“I don’t think you can do that, Rollo. The consummation is part of the sealing of the marriage – and the treaty. If it is not consummated, the king may think you will back out of the agreement.”

“But he surely doesn’t want me to force his daughter?”

“I suppose he thinks she will submit.”

“And what if she doesn’t? She has fire – she may resist – or even fight. I don’t want to force her – she already thinks of me as an animal. What will she think if I do just as our men did to all those women? She will never forgive me.”

Sinric was silent for a moment, thinking. Then he shook his head, as if to himself, and said, “I think she will not resist.”

“How can you think so? She scarcely looks at me now and when she does it’s not even with disgust, it’s with the coldness of death.”

“She is very dutiful: she will think of her people, how the treaty will protect them. And she is very devout: she has made the vows of betrothal; she will not want to break holy vows however much she might wish she had not been forced to take them.”

Rollo was skeptical. “Halvar says I will have a good time ‘taming’ her. I do not think so.” 

What was it about this girl that kept him from wanting to dominate her? He loved her fire – it was what had drawn his eyes to her when she stood upon the wall, shouting to her men, urging them on like Freyja herself. He did not want to quell that; he wanted to join with it, match it; make something greater with the two parts.

“I think…just be kind to her. Woo her as best you can. She will do her duty; you will do yours. Not the most romantic of wedding nights, but from what I have learned, fairly common for royalty.”

Rollo was startled into remembering what was obvious, but had somehow become obscure: he was marrying a princess – and was the brother of a king. Perhaps they did not consider him royalty here, but he would be a duke – as important as Odo. He would follow their customs and hope that he could still win Gisla’s heart in the end.

 

~~

 

At breakfast the next day, Gisla was in no better mood. Rollo was quiet, so she was at least spared the necessity of making conversation. She could see out of the corner of her eye that he glanced at her now and then, as if hoping she would relent, but she kept her eyes on her plate. Her father was placidly remarking on the flavor of the food and encouraging Rollo to try another dish.

During a pause in such discourse, Rollo asked the king if he could see more of the city. He mentioned the tall tower of the cathedral. “Can we climb to the top and see the city? I should like to study its defenses to be sure that nothing is overlooked in future.”

Gisla was skeptical; she was sure he just wanted to learn all the advantages that his brother might have in attacking next time. She was not surprised that her father agreed and sent them off with a guard to the cathedral, where they could climb the tower.

As they climbed the long, winding staircase, Gisla concentrated on holding her skirts out of the way on the numerous steps. As she climbed, she prayed for strength to reconcile herself to the fate that seemed certain for her. By the time they were halfway up, she’d reached a strange, desperate sort of acceptance. She could throw herself from the tower if she dared, or she must surrender to the inevitable. 

Sinric and one of the older guards seemed winded, and Gisla suggested a halt for rest, but Rollo strode on, happy to climb and seemingly of boundless energy. Gisla continued as well, determined in her intent to make a decision once and for all – and vexed that the Northman should show her up in her own city and her own cathedral. In her hurry to catch up, she stepped on the hem of her skirt and tripped herself, stumbling. Rollo reached back, grabbed her arm, and steadied her. She wanted to wrench her arm away, but controlled herself and thanked him brusquely. Tumbling hadn’t been part of her plan.

After a long hike up the staircase, they at last reached the top. Rollo’s eyes were sparkling with delight as he rushed to the first window and gazed down upon the city. “It is — beautiful,” he whispered in awe in Frankish. He moved from window to window, taking in the view from each angle, muttering to himself in his own language. Gisla remained at the first window, looking down at the streets where she so often walked. This might be the last time she would ever see the streets from here. Or that she would see anything. Could she dare? Could she deprive herself of heaven itself?

“Why are you so sad, looking at your city?” She flinched; had he returned already? Sinric was there too; he must have caught his breath. He shared Rollo’s words gently.

She turned and looked up at Rollo with bitterness. “How can you even ask? _You_ take me away from my home and the people I love.” 

Rollo was quiet for a time. Then he said, in a low voice, with what appeared to be a sincere look in his eyes, “I will make it up to you.”

“How? Rouen is not like Paris.” What could he offer her there that would compensate for such a loss?

“Perhaps not. But I will rule in Rouen, will I not? _You_ will rule by my side. Would you rule here?”

She gaped in surprise – as did Sinric – at these words. She had enjoyed some influence over her father and Count Odo, but after this arrangement had been made without her consent, she knew that she did not have any true say. And Odo had said she’d be by his side as _he_ ruled, not that she would share his rule. “Women do not rule in Frankia. It will be no different in Rouen.”

“It will if I wish it to be. Can I not involve you in decisions if I wish?”

“No man would do that, not even my father.”

“I — would,” he said in Frankish. He continued in his own language, and she listened, fascinated, to Sinric’s rendition. “I will value your knowledge of your people and their ways. I will prize your wisdom. You will help me to be a good ruler. We can help each other to rule fairly.” 

Would he really do that? How could such a seemingly uncivilized brute make such an enlightened offer?

He must have seen her surprise and distrust. “Women have more say where I come from. There is even a woman earl there.” 

She considered; this was nothing like she’d expected. But still, she’d have to be wed to him, and he was still a heathen, despite the things he’d learned from the priest. And she could barely stand to be near him. 

Rollo smiled knowingly when she did not answer. “Well, you will see.” He turned away and waved his hand over the city. “Now, tell me, which way is Rouen from here? Sinric tells me that it is the walled town we passed on the river coming to Paris.”

She sighed and pointed to where the river bent out of view and explained, “Rouen is that way. It is about two days down the river towards the sea.”

“Will we live in the tower right on the river, or somewhere else?”

“The garrison is upon the river; the house is farther back. I was there as a child. But perhaps you will wish to build a new house. My father was speaking of that yesterday.”

“Hmm, I will have to see. No, _we_ will have to see.” He smiled at her.

She gave him a little nod and continued to gaze over the city, willing her eyes to see Rouen in the distance. After a time, she realized that she did _not_ dare. She would find a way to accept the cup that God had passed to her.

 

~~

 

Rollo studied the landscape before him. At first it had just been amazing to be able to see the whole city from one place. He thought he’d never been so high before. But then he realized that he’d climbed in the mountains around Kattegat and looked down to see the town and the boats and thought them all so small and seemingly meaningless. Somehow this was different. 

As he moved about the tower windows for perhaps the third time, he noticed that Gisla kept looking at him and then away. He thought perhaps she just wanted to study him as he studied her city. But there seemed to be a striving about her. Finally, he asked, “You — want — ask — me—” He broke off and asked Sinric for the word, “something?”

Gisla looked embarrassed, glancing at Sinric as if uncomfortable to have him translate. She seemed to take a chance. “How is it that you are not already married?” She hesitated, then pressed on, “Or perhaps you have a wife back in your northern country?”

He let out a breath. “I do not. I have never been married.”

She looked away from him, still embarrassed. “And why is that?”

He had anticipated the question as Sinric translated. He thought about it for a moment. Why hadn’t he married? Because the woman he’d wanted had married his brother. Should he tell her that? He sighed. “Because the woman I loved married someone else. I never found another woman I wanted to marry after that. Until now.”

She had been looking at him; now she glanced away and asked quietly, “You have lived alone all these years?”

“I did not say that.” He thought of all the women he’d had since wanting Lagertha. And Siggy. “There was a woman I…I lived with.”

Gisla looked at him sharply. “Lived with? Why not married?” 

“She was a widow; she could not have more children. So we did not wed.” This wasn’t exactly true, but things with Siggy were complicated. He supposed he’d loved her in his own way. But he’d never been moved to marry her. He should have.

A shadow passed over Gisla’s eyes as Sinric finished translating this. “So she still waits for you? Just as a wife might?”

“No, she died.”

Gisla looked flustered, but seemed to recover and said solemnly, “I’m sorry.”

“So was I.”

Gisla was quiet. She looked away, but clearly still had something on her mind. “How did she die?”

Rollo thought back to the day he received the news. A black, evil day. Freyr himself had wept his sorrow that day. “She drowned after saving my brother’s sons when they fell through the ice on the river.” He made no effort to hide his grief; it would be an insult to Siggy’s memory.

As Sinric finished translating this, Gisla’s mouth fell open. “That’s terrible.” She cast about, clearly looking for something else to say. “But she was very brave, saving the children. You must have been proud of her.”

“Yes. She was given a hero’s funeral. Though without me, since I was away when it happened.”

“You could have the priests say masses for her in the cathedral if you wish.”

Rollo looked at her with surprise. Why should she care about Siggy’s soul? “She would not want that. She was not a Christian.”

Gisla nodded her head somberly and for a moment, he saw what seemed to be a true sympathy in her eyes. Then she turned her gaze out to the city once more. He stared at her briefly, then joined her in looking out over the city.

 

~~

 

~~

 

 **Historical and Cultural Notes** (I am putting them here because they won't fit in the regular end notes field; I guess I am too verbose!):

Compline (and Terce, from Ch. 4) – these are two more of the prayer times from the Liturgy of the Hours, mentioned in Ch. 1. 

Count Odo – As mentioned in previous chapters, the show takes liberties with the place and time of many events. The siege that Ragnar would have been part of was in 845 and he burned a large part of Paris. That was when Charles the Bald was king of the Franks (840-877); he had had struggles with his brothers, and had to pay off the Viking raiders to get them to leave the region. 

That caused later rulers to build the fortifications depicted in the show, which helped deter the Viking raids of 885-886. That raid, led by Sigfred, accompanied by Rollo, took place during the reign of Charles the Fat (881-888), who was in Italy at the time, so Odo, Count of Paris, dealt with the siege for a time and then went to seek support from Charles, who finally came with an army, but only encircled Rollo’s army and did not intend to fight. He later paid off Sigfred with 700 pounds of silver so he’d leave (see note below *). 

That cost Charles the Fat the support of the people, so Odo was elected king and ruled Paris after that (888-898). Charles the Simple (898-922) was supported by a rival faction to Odo and was named king in 893, but did not reign until Odo’s death in 898. So the rivalry between the two is realistic. And Odo’s brother, Robert I of France (922-923), was crowned as part of a revolt against Charles the Simple, who had to flee. Charles returned with a Norman army, but was defeated and captured. 

(*note: Rollo and other warriors did not get a share of that pay-off, so they stayed in the region and eventually caused Charles the Simple to make the treaty which made Rollo a duke and gave him control of Rouen. All of this would have taken place in Chartres where Rollo’s men had been attacking for some time and Charles the Simple was defending. And the real Rollo would have been much older – born circa 860, so by 911 he’d be about 51.).

If you are confused by all the Charleses in this history, the chart in [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_French_monarchs) Wikipedia entry is helpful.

Breach of etiquette – it was not considered appropriate for a man to touch a woman unless she was a member of his family or his wife. In the show Odo does seem to put his arm around Gisla after Ragnar released her to return to the city, but perhaps under the circumstances, that could be forgiven. In chapter one, I had Rollo offer Gisla his arm as they led the procession into the banquet hall, but since they were betrothed, I presumed that would be acceptable. 

Consummation of marriage – Sinric’s explanation of the importance of physically consummating the marriage seems to have been the norm for royal marriages in the middle ages and through the 18th century. In some cases an entourage would stay either in the room, while the couple consummated the marriage in a curtained bed, or stayed just outside the room to listen and then later inspect the bedclothes for evidence that the consummation took place. 

Freyja – Norse goddess of love, fertility, beauty, sorcery, war, and death.

Duke vs. Count -- From what I have read [here](http://historicalnovelists.tripod.com/peeraget.htm), a duke was definitely considered higher than a count; and in the show, Rollo is offered a duchy (or dukedom); elsewhere I have read that it is uncertain whether he was really a count or a duke. But on that same peerage titles page it also says that “duke” began as a war leader title. 

The bell tower: In the show, there is a tower that stands high above Paris (see screenshot [here](https://bladeofthesashurai.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/vikings-08.jpg)), and it seems like that must be the palace and cathedral “complex,” but it is not clear what real-life cathedral that could be modeled after nor if there was anything that large in the time period being depicted. Considering that the show depicted the interior of the cathedral where the king and Gisla go to pray as being in the Gothic style (about 200 years too early for the Viking sieges), I suppose it shouldn’t really be surprising if they show a tower that didn’t exist yet in that time. But it does look something like [this](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abbey_of_Saint-Germain-des-Pr%C3%A9s) tower, which is part of an abbey where Frankish kings were buried. According to [this](http://www.sacred-destinations.com/france/paris-st-germain-des-pres) site, the tower is Romanesque, so that part is accurate for the time period.

Geographic note: Rollo was amazed to be so high up in the tower, but he recalls that he had been in the mountains above Kattegat. Kattegat in real life is a bay and the land near it is pretty flat. The show seems to set Kattegat in Norway. 

Women ruling – while women did rule in some cases (one Frankish queen is notorious: Fredegund, who ruled as regent for her son from about 584-597), medieval Europe was for the most part patriarchal. And while the Vikings were certainly not completely egalitarian about the sexes, women had more rights and had more say in their society than in other parts of Europe. There is a story in the sagas of Queen Åsa Haraldsdottir of Agder, who ruled a small kingdom in the first part of the 9th century. 

Rouen appearance – a photo of Rouen from a river cruise website showed a part of Rouen right along the river that is walled and has towers along it; so I used that in Gisla’s description of the city. I presumed that during the Viking Age, the Franks would have built walls in Rouen just as they did in Paris. It’s logical to assume that troops would be garrisoned along the river. 

Gisla accepting the cup that God passed to her – perhaps it is presumptuous of me to assume that Gisla would know scripture so well as to make reference to Matthew 26:39 where, in reference to the upcoming crucifixion, Jesus was in the garden of Gethsemane and prayed, “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.” It might also be considered blasphemous for her to equate her marriage ordeal with Christ’s ordeal on the cross, but I am supposing that 10th century Christians might already have the notion of having one’s “cross to bear” in their lives.

Freyr – god that controls the rain, among other things. It had rained torrentially the day Rollo got back to Kattegat and learned that Siggy was dead.

 

~~

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news and bad news for the next chapter: Good news -- the wedding! Bad news -- it might be a little longer in the making since I'm back to work and have so little time for writing. But I will try to get it posted as soon as possible! Thanks for reading!


	6. The Wedding of the Princess and the Bear Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“…the bear will marry a princess…and you will be present at the ceremony.” The Seer_   
>    
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my ever-faithful and über-talented beta-reader, Swimmingfox, and to to my eagle-eyed copy editor, Windchimed. I couldn't do it without you!
> 
> I'm sorry for the long wait for this chapter; I hope to get the next chapter up more quickly, but it all depends on the muse!

~~

 

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear. Rollo looked out the window of his chamber and felt a lifting of the gloom he’d been feeling for the past week. Freyr at least, was smiling on his wedding day. 

All week elation and foreboding had been warring in his heart over this marriage. He still held faith that the seer’s prophecy boded well for him; the notion of marrying a princess, of gaining land and power – all seemed right, and timely. But he remained uneasy about how Gisla was still acting towards him; despite that moment in the tower where she’d shown him a little sympathy, she was generally still cold and sullen in his presence. He had always longed for a real marriage, one of love and respect. Would that be possible with her? And there was always the specter of his brother looming; by carrying on with this, Rollo was agreeing to defend Paris against Ragnar when he returned.

He thought back to when he got the news of the king’s offer, how astounded he was and shocked to realize that the seer was right. He had told the king’s men that he’d think on it, called a meeting of his thegns, and discussed it with them. 

One of his men asked the dreaded question – didn’t this mean that they would be betraying King Ragnar? Rollo was silent for a long moment before answering, “I would be agreeing that we will help to defend Paris and Rouen from further attack from Norsemen, including my brother. I hope it will not come to that. I believe that Ragnar will see the value in having an ally in Frankia, with Norsemen safely settled here. There is land for plenty of others; he is always seeking that. And there are lands further north that can be raided; they are not part of the treaty – we can raid those ourselves if we desire. What do you think?”

His men discussed it and while some were skeptical and warned against crossing Ragnar, ultimately they all agreed that it was a good deal, and congratulated him on getting such an offer and for negotiating such good terms for them. 

Rollo thought of all of this and the events since the betrothal and felt his spirits lifted somewhat. Why would the gods put such possibilities in his path if he were not to follow them? For the first time since that awful day in the city when Gisla had been turned so agonizingly against him, he felt a spark of hope.

 

~~

 

Gisla had risen before dawn, not that she had slept much at all, and prayed at her prie-dieu. Now she sat at her window and looked out upon the garden in the early morning light. She wondered what the day would bring, if she might find the peace she had been seeking since this whole ordeal had begun, or if her ordeal was actually just starting.

She dreaded the whole thing. Part of her wished it was already tomorrow and the terrible deed was done. Part of her still hoped that it would be called off. And part of her was just glad that the worst of it would not come until late tonight. She had made her decision when she’d not thrown herself off the tower, but she almost wished she had. Could she slip away and go to the tower now? Did she even have the nerve to do so? She’d already decided that she did not.

She knew that Rollo had been trying to win her over. She was not unappreciative of some of his efforts. But the fact remained, he was a barbarian and she would bed with him tonight. She shuddered.

As she gazed listlessly out the window, she noticed that someone was walking in the garden. She watched without interest until she realized it was Rollo. And that he seemed to be praying. He touched a pendant he had around his neck and seemed to be talking to God. But she could not see which pendant he touched; was it the cross he’d been given by the priest? Or was it his wolf pendant? 

She watched for some time; he let go of the pendant but still seemed to speak to God. She supposed that in private this was how he prayed. She was glad that he did pray, if only she knew that he was praying to God the Father or to Christ. She wished he’d be on his knees, properly reverent.

Just then, she saw Halvar join Rollo, startling him out of his prayers. They talked and laughed together and she could only imagine what sort of crudities they must be speaking of when the red-haired man clapped Rollo on the back. Halvar handed Rollo something small to look at and Rollo seemed pleased. She wondered what it could be; he didn’t pop it into his mouth, so it mustn’t have been food. He still gobbled down dozens of dragées every day; his appetite did not seem to halt for anything.

She, on the other hand, had little appetite for anything. As the wedding drew inexorably closer, she found she had to choke down most meals, and only a small bit at that. This morning she knew she would not eat a thing.

Behind her she heard her ladies come in and she knew with an ache in her heart that the day must begin. 

 

~~

 

As Rollo walked in the garden, he wondered, how would Gisla act during the wedding? Would she still be cold and unforgiving, angry and resentful? Would she weep outright? He felt sure she would not smile or laugh this day. Not what he’d hoped for his wedding, the few times he’d ever imagined it. 

And would she resist him when they were finally alone on the first night of their marriage? He hoped that Sinric was right that she would not, but there was no guarantee. She might not even know herself what she would do. Rollo knew, though, that whatever the consequences to the treaty, he would not force her. He would be disappointed if she refused, but he would wait. He felt sure that he could win her over eventually. He touched the wolf pendant at his throat and offered up a prayer to Frigga to help him sway her. 

But if Gisla didn’t resist, if she acquiesced? For a moment Rollo allowed his thoughts to wander and imagined that one of those genuine smiles he’d seen her give to the children in the hospital had been meant for him. That she could actually welcome him on their wedding night. How he would reward her for such a smile directed at him. He smiled to himself. Then shook his head at his own foolishness. Even if she consented, she would not be smiling about it, he felt sure.

There was a clap on his shoulder. He turned in surprise – he’d heard no one approaching – and was relieved to see that it was Halvar. 

“Rollo, I thought we were to spar this morning, your last morning as a free man!”

“Yes, I must have been here longer than I thought; I have lost track of time.”

“What are you doing here? And why so serious – it’s your wedding day, you should be celebrating.”

Rollo explained a small part of his mixed feelings about the wedding. “And you’ve been to the village. What do the people say? Are they still in support of the plans we’ve made?”

Halvar looked surprised. “Of course, Rollo, why should they not? Most of them eagerly await the granting of land and look forward to planting in the spring. They only ask when you will bring your princess for them to see. They want to celebrate with you.”

Rollo was relieved. He had also worried that the villagers would, upon further reflection, come to blame him and condemn him for making such a decision. He turned his attention to the wedding. “Did you bring the ring? Is it as I asked?”

“Yes, yes, Knud had it ready. He’s done his usual fine work.”

Halvar handed over the ring and Rollo inspected it carefully. He nodded in satisfaction. “Perfect. It’s just what I asked. Thank you for taking care of it.”

“Of course! But you are sure there is nothing else needed for the ceremony? No swords? No pig for the sacrifice?”

“No, they don’t do that in Christian weddings. And any sacrifices we wish to hold had best be done away from Frankish eyes – they will not understand.”

“But in Rouen, we will be able to hold our usual ceremonies, will we not? Did you not say that this was part of the agreement?”

“Don’t worry; I will not let them interfere with that. If some of our people choose to marry Frankish women, they may decide to convert, but no one will force them to do so.”

“Good. Well, then, what are we waiting for? Let’s go and spar, get you dirty enough to have a reason to bathe for this wedding!” He clapped Rollo on the shoulder good-naturedly and they headed off to the practice yard.

 

~~

 

Gisla was still at the window as the women began to bustle about the chamber. Ermengarde came to the window and peered out over her head, seeing Rollo talking to Halvar.

“Ooh, you will make bad luck – you shouldn’t see the groom before the wedding!” But she said it with a smirk and giggled as she withdrew. 

“It is only the bride who must not be seen before the wedding, and in her wedding gown. Come away from the window now, both of you.” Rosamund spoke gently, but firmly. “There is much to be done to make Gisla ready.”

Ermengarde was slow to obey, as she took another glance. “He is very handsome with the morning light shining down on him. And that red-haired giant with him – he will make some woman very happy as well!”

“Ermengarde, attend to your duties. Herleva, please come and comb out Gisla’s hair.”

The women hustled about, and Gisla gave herself up to their ministrations. Her hair was combed out and then piled on top of her head while she was bathed, powdered and perfumed, and robed. She prayed between every step of the proceedings, and finally they dressed her. They had tried to get her to eat the breakfast that was sent to her, but aside from a little wine and a few bites of bread, she could not oblige them.

“I was nervous on my wedding day too!” Ermengarde exclaimed. “I could not eat for excitement!”

Excitement was hardly what Gisla was feeling, but she said nothing and let the woman tend to her. Rosamund gave her a sympathetic smile and coaxed her into sipping a little more wine.

At last, she was ready. A splendid new gold silk dress, heavily embroidered and beaded all about the bodice, a fine cloak with wide satin collar, and a small golden crown perched precariously atop her head. Herleva had worked hard to anchor the crown properly and to add the little sprays of flowers that rested at her temples. 

Gisla thanked her. “Father should not have spent so much on such a ridiculous headpiece. I would much rather have worn a proper circlet and veil. The money could have gone to the poor.”

“Your father wanted you to be married in full regalia before all the people. He would spare no expense.” Rosamund must have been trying to reassure her, but to Gisla it only reaffirmed what she already knew; that her father would go to much expense to appease the Norsemen, even bejeweling his daughter for Rollo’s consumption.

The women turned Gisla so that she might have a glance at her regalia in the glass, and Gisla nodded a meek approval. “It is well. Father will be pleased at least.” But as she turned she realized that something was missing. “Wait! Where is my cross? My mother’s cross.”

The women exclaimed; Gisla was never without it and it had been removed only for her bath. Rosamund found it and brought it to Gisla, kissing it tenderly in memory of Gisla’s mother, then drawing it gently around her neck and fastening the clasp carefully. “There, my dear, just where it should be today. I’m sure she looks down upon you from heaven and blesses you. I wish you well, my darling Gisla.”

Tears sprang to Gisla’s eyes as she heard words that her own mother might have spoken if she were here coming from the woman who had been like a mother to her all these years since. She blinked back the tears and whispered, “Thank you, dear Rosamund. I could not face it if you were not here beside me.”

A horn sounded in the distance and the other women tittered, “It’s time, it’s time!” and Gisla was hustled out of her chambers to her wedding.

 

~~

 

Everything and everyone was in their place for the wedding. Rollo stood at the altar of the church awaiting his bride. Now he was even more nervous than ever. She could actually refuse to take the vows. She may have absconded in the night – perhaps Odo had returned and taken her? But no, the heralds were marking her arrival even now. He looked nervously over at Halvar and Gulbrand, who headed up his small contingent of guests in the great cathedral. Sinric stood near him, ready to translate anything that was needed. 

A horn sounded and the doors were thrown open; a small child, dressed in gold silk, led the procession down the long main aisle. She was crowned in flowers and scattered flower petals along the floor as she walked. She arrived at the front and was escorted away by a nun. Perhaps she was one of the orphans that Gisla cared for.

Gisla’s ladies had followed the little girl, also finely dressed, and each with a cluster of flowers in her hands. They took their places in the front of the gallery, and bowed their heads in reverential prayer, aside from one bold young woman who dared to look Rollo right in the eyes and he could have sworn she winked at him. 

But at last came Gisla, on her father’s arm, bedecked in golden wedding finery and a shining crown on her head, and the words of the seer came back to him, “the bear will marry a princess…and you will be present at the ceremony.” Why didn’t the seer say that Rollo would be the groom? Perhaps he didn’t see everything in his prophecies, or he was just being evasive. 

But now Gisla was nearly to the front and he could see her face. She walked along, tall and silent and solemn, her head held high, as if she must keep the crown perfectly level. She did not look to the sides of the aisles at the people who were wishing her well, but looked straight ahead, eyes fixed beyond him. He tried to catch her eye, wanted to reassure her, perhaps calm her if she was nervous, but she did not look at him. 

As she came closer he realized that she was trying hard not to show whatever emotion she must be feeling. She seemed to be working very hard to control her face. He saw her swallow several times and take a deep breath when she stopped at the front, where her father kissed her on the cheek and spoke to the bishop; Sinric had told him that the king would announce to the bishop that he was giving his daughter in marriage. Gisla gave a convulsive swallow, grasped at the cross at her throat, took another breath, and then stood completely still. Her father moved back to take his seat on the great throne chair behind them, and the bishop beckoned to the couple.

Rollo glanced at Sinric, who nodded, and Rollo strode forward to the altar where the bishop stood. He knelt before the bishop as Sinric had instructed, and waited for the ceremony to begin. He realized, though, that Gisla had not joined him there. Had he forgotten something? Was he to take her arm or her hand and lead her there? But Sinric had said nothing about that. He turned and looked at her, and saw that she was frozen there, trying desperately to control her emotions, her face screwed up in anguish. It was as if she was going to her execution, not her marriage. He looked back to the altar and wondered whether he should just call a halt to all of this now and spare her more grief. How could he marry someone who despised him and the very idea of marrying him so much?

Just as he was about to rise and speak, she stepped forward, quickly covering the short distance to the altar. She was shaking slightly, and still forcing back tears, as she sank to her knees and placed her hands on the altar beside him. He was struck by how small she was, kneeling beside him. He was filled with a sudden desire to comfort her, protect her. What a ridiculous notion – the thing she wanted protection from was _him_! And yet, it was how he felt. He would show her that he was not a brute, that he was a man she could respect and love. He’d vow this along with his wedding vows; he’d mean everything that he said.

He turned back towards the bishop and awaited his instructions.

 

~~

 

Gisla had walked down the aisle of this cathedral hundreds of times. But never, even in the worst days of the siege when hunger caused desperation in the city, had she had this sort of dread nor had felt that the walk was so long and so difficult. All the people seemed to be staring at her, though she could not have said this for certain as she avoided looking at anyone. She fixed her gaze firmly on the crucifix above the altar and prayed as she walked for the strength to complete the ceremony without breaking down and humiliating herself. She made her face like stone and repeated in her heart the prayer for peace and acceptance that she’d been making for the past few weeks since this ordeal had begun.

As she approached the altar she could not help seeing Rollo looming before her in his best furs and seeming bigger and more formidable than ever. She did not _look_ at him, but only saw him in the corner of her eye. She could not bear to catch his eye now; she knew she would break down if she did. 

She had scarcely felt her father’s presence by her side as he escorted her down the aisle; she only rested her hand lightly on his arm. She at first had felt a surge of resentment towards him for putting her in this position, but then as she entered the great cathedral and saw the people assembled, this time just for her, she had been overwhelmed with the magnitude of the entire thing, and could only manage to think of getting down the aisle without stumbling or collapsing in grief.

As they stopped near the altar, her father turned to her and gave her the betraying kiss before saying the formal words giving her away. As he said the words to the bishop, she felt her heart convulse. It was actually happening; there was no reprieve, it was as she’d dreaded. She would really marry this man. She tried desperately to keep from weeping openly. If she did, she would never get through the ceremony. She must at least appear to be strong, even if in her heart she was desperately weak.

Her father completed his part of the ceremony, and abandoned her to this man and her future with him. As if through a wall of water she heard the bishop beckon to them to step forward and kneel at the altar. But she knew that if she moved at that moment, she would collapse. She struggled for control, swallowed, felt that she would choke, raised her hands to her throat and found her mother’s cross there. She took a sudden immense comfort from that, stood for a moment silently praying for strength, then took a deep breath and forced herself forward to the altar. She knelt, all but grasping the altar rail in an effort to steady herself, and with monumental effort, composed herself. _Thy will be done_.

 

~~

 

[](http://imgur.com/Nr6IIeb)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Historical Notes:
> 
> Freyr -- the Norse god associated with sunshine and fair weather, among other things.
> 
> Thegn -- Old Norse, "king's follower," meaning an attendant, servant, retainer or official, usually in a military sense similar to the later "knight;" it was used for the veteran warriors or members of a boat crew during the Viking Age.
> 
> Treaty of Saint-Clair-sur-Epte – the agreement made between Charles the Simple and Rollo in the fall of 911. The treaty allowed Rollo and his men to settle in what is now the northern part of Upper Normandy down to the Seine in return for their protection of Charles' kingdom from any new invasion by the "northmen." Rollo also agreed to marry Gisela, the king’s daughter. Some sources say that he agreed to be baptized as part of the treaty, others say that he’d already been baptized while living in Frankia during the previous years. In 2011 there was a commemoration of the settling of this region; it’s mentioned [here](http://www.medievalhistories.com/normandy-911/), and if you can read French, there is a booklet that can be ordered. This makes me chuckle; as an American, it seems amazing to commemorate the 1100th anniversary of something! 
> 
> prie-dieu – a kneeler kept at the bedside and other places where people prayed regularly. Might include a book holder for a prayer book. The term does not seem to have come about until the 17th century, but since it’s a French term, I thought I’d use it here.
> 
> Frigga – the Norse goddess of love and marriage.
> 
> Swords and pig for sacrifice – Halvar mentions these because in the traditional Norse wedding, the couple would exchange swords (the groom would bring an ancestral sword often taken from a family grave and to be saved by the bride for their first son; the bride would also bring a sword to be given as a gift to her husband) and an animal would be sacrificed to summon the attention of the gods appropriate to fertility. The blood of the animal would be used as part of a wedding ritual and the rest of the animal would be used as part of the wedding feast. 
> 
> Bride and groom not seeing each other before the wedding – according to some sources, this custom comes from the days of arranged marriages when the couple might only see each other for the first time at the wedding. If the groom saw the bride before the wedding and didn’t like her, he might leave, hence “bad luck.” One explanation for the bride wearing a veil until the end of the ceremony is that it was meant to hide her face until it was too late for the groom to back out. But there are other explanations for the veil as well; the Romans believed that the bride should wear a veil to hide her face from evil spirits who might be envious of her happiness. Women like Gisla were probably glad they could wear veils to cover their emotions if they were forced to marry someone they didn’t want. In one source, the same explanation was given for why the king and Gisla and other people of the court wore those masks to church during the siege; to hide their emotions from the public who might see them there. 
> 
> Flower girl – the flower girl was meant to represent the bride as a child; her walk down the aisle symbolized the bride’s transition from childhood to womanhood.
> 
>  


	7. The Wedding of the Princess and the Bear Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Bear finds out if the Seer's prophecy is true.
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many warm thanks to Swimmingfox for her ongoing excellent beta and editing support, and to Windchimed for her careful copy editing -- and to both for their encouragement.
> 
> Again, I'm sorry this took so long to post; real life intervened. 
> 
> ~~

~~

 

Rollo breathed a silent sigh of relief as the bishop’s words of invocation and blessing of the marriage began. He stole small glances at Gisla, trying to determine if she had resigned herself to the marriage. She kept her head bowed and her eyes closed; her lips moved as she spoke the prayer silently. It struck him that she was truly in prayer. He wondered whether she prayed along with the bishop, or was saying something else. Was she praying to be rescued? Or for lightning to strike him dead? He realized that he was ignoring the prayer himself. He mentally thanked Frigga for weaving their destiny together, before focusing his attention on the bishop’s words.

Now the bishop was indicating for them to rise and Rollo stood, aware that Gisla still knelt beside him. The bishop gave a slight clearing of his throat and Gisla started, grasped the rail and began to rise. She seemed to struggle, perhaps encumbered by the thick layers of her bridal finery, so Rollo took her arm and helped her to stand. As she lifted her face to him, he expected to see misery there, but instead saw a sad resignation in her eyes.

The bishop now began the marriage rites. “Rollo, wilt thou take Gisla for thy lawful wife, according to the rite of our holy Mother the Church?”

Rollo, looking into her eyes, his voice firm, said, “I will.” He nodded to her slightly. 

Now the bishop presented the question that she must answer. “Gisla, wilt thou take Rollo for thy lawful husband, according to the rite of our holy Mother the Church?”

This was the moment that would seal their fate: the giving of her consent. Gisla’s eyes remained fixed and she did not answer.

 

~~

 

Gisla knew that this was her last chance to refuse. But she had made her decision, knew that her people depended on her, so she took a deep breath, and as if she truly meant it, her voice tremulous, she said, “I will.” Rollo’s eyes flickered and his lips curved in a slight smile. 

The bishop asked them to join their right hands and repeat after him as he directed them in their vows. 

“I, Rollo, take thee, Gisla, for my lawful wife,” Rollo spoke this smoothly, and without Sinric’s help, “To have and to hold,” and she realized that he had memorized it. He seemed to truly understand the words and meant them as he looked deeply into her eyes and promised, “to love, honor, and cherish, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, to keep myself only unto thee until death do us part.” 

She was aware that her hand was cold and clammy as it lay in his, which was warm and strong, and she felt strangely strengthened by his presence. How could that be when he was the reason she was feeling all of this? But now it was her turn to give her vows. 

She spoke them slowly and carefully, not quite meeting his eyes, “I, Gisla, take thee, Rollo, for my lawful husband, to have and to hold, to love, honor, and obey, from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, to keep myself only unto thee until death do us part.”

Her vows complete, Rollo released a breath as if in relief, and squeezed her hand gently, as if to encourage her in the rest of the ceremony. 

The bishop intoned, “I join you together in marriage, in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.” He sprinkled them with Holy Water and asked for the ring. 

Gisla watched as Rollo handed him a ring, which sparkled in the candlelight. The bishop blessed it, saying, “Let us pray. Bless, O Lord, this ring, which we bless in Thy name, that she who shall wear it, keeping true faith unto her spouse, may abide in Thy peace and in obedience to Thy will, and ever live in mutual love. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

_Peace and obedience_. Gisla took in the words of the prayer. Would to God that she might truly be blessed with such peace if indeed it was His will. She watched as the bishop sprinkled the ring with holy water and handed it to Rollo.

Rollo removed the heavy betrothal ring from her finger and placed it on his own hand. Then he recited, “With this ring I thee wed and I plight unto thee my troth,” and placed the ring first on Gisla’s thumb, saying, “In the Name of the Father,” then onto her first finger, “and of the Son,” her middle finger, “and of the Holy Ghost,” then finally onto her ring finger, “Amen.” 

The ring fit snugly and all Gisla could think was that now she was truly bound. It was done, sealed. She was his wife. But Rollo smiled again at her and pressed her fingers gently, before they turned to receive the bishop’s final blessing. 

The bishop then gave permission for Rollo to seal the marriage vows with a kiss and Gisla awaited his assault upon her. But he gave only a light, gentle kiss, first on her cheek, then on her lips. She looked up at him in surprise and found warm eyes looking back at her, and her eyes fell in embarrassment.

The bishop beckoned them to the altar for the wedding mass, and they stepped forward. Husband and wife.

 

~~

 

During the long wedding mass, Rollo kept his hands on Gisla’s as they rested upon the altar. He continued to steal glances at her, wondering what she was thinking, and coming to the conclusion that she was as if in a trance, just floating along with the ceremony, no doubt relying on her many years of repetition to get her through it. He looked at their hands together there, his so large and commanding, hers so small and seemingly submissive. 

He could scarcely believe that the ceremony was complete. He’d remembered his vows; he thought he’d said them well, for he’d seen the surprise in her eyes, and no scorn as there’d been at the betrothal. And she’d said her vows too; she had faltered for a moment – his heart had nearly stopped – but then she had said them. He thanked Frigga for answering his prayer; Gisla was his. But his heart sank a bit, remembering Gisla’s misery as she’d walked down the aisle. There were many more prayers that needed to be said to Frigga and Freyja both – and maybe, well, he must find out what Christian saint one prayed to for love to bloom. 

The mass ended at last and Rollo nearly sprang to his feet in relief. He recovered himself and turned to help Gisla rise. She seemed completely calm now, perhaps reconciled? He could not tell, for she did not meet his eyes. But she took his arm as he offered it and he led her out of the church, as Sinric had instructed.

They stood in the sunlight, blinking a little after so long in the dark church, and he turned to her. Her face was blank, seeming not to take in their surroundings. But before he could ask her how she was, his men began to surround him, congratulating him on his marriage. They were loud and jovial, and while he was glad that they approved and it gave him joy to receive their good wishes, he was aware that Gisla stood beside him, silent and staring vacantly. 

Sinric shouldered his way through. “It is time to go to the feast hall. You are to lead the procession back to the palace, remember? The palace guard await.”

Rollo nodded, put his other hand over Gisla’s on his arm, and drew her away from the crowd and into the street behind the guards who always accompanied her. He recalled their last walk through these streets, when she was equally silent with him. It will not always be like this, he promised himself. 

As they walked, there were people in the street looking on with interest. Many of them waved ribbons or tossed flowers into their pathway, cheering good wishes to them. Others were quiet, perhaps unsure of this new alliance. Rollo glanced over to Gisla and saw that she was still in a daze, as if sleepwalking beside him. He nudged her and pointed to some young women in the crowd who were tentatively waving ribbons at her and stretching out their hands to offer her flowers. 

Gisla gazed at them, at first as if not seeing. Then suddenly, she seemed startled into awareness and recognition of her people. She drew herself up a little straighter with the dignity and grace he’d come to admire, and nodded to them and accepted the flowers. Not the warm response he’d seen her give them on other occasions, but gracious. Rollo was proud of her bearing – this was the Gisla he longed to know. 

 

~~

 

Gisla sat at the high table beside her new husband. The first thing she had done, after all the formalities of beginning the feast celebration had passed, was to summon Rosamund. 

“Please send Herleva for the veil and circlet I’d intended to wear – she will know the ones. I cannot bear this loathsome thing anymore!”

“But Gisla, what will your father say?”

“I do not care. I will tell him that my husband dislikes it. He wants to please him. It is giving me a terrible headache – if I am to bear the rest of this evening – and the dancing – I must be relieved of it.”

Herleva and Rosamund had removed the crown and replaced it with the thin gold silk veil and gilt circlet that Gisla had preferred in the first place. Gisla breathed a sigh of relief. The women helped her refresh herself and together they returned to the feast. 

Rollo had looked up with surprise to see her thus changed, but smiled his approval. He rose to pull her chair out for her and she found herself sitting down with a slight feeling of pleasure at his courteous act. How ridiculous; it was only a chair.

Her father had frowned at her at first, but he must have seen Rollo smiling because he waved his hand in that congenial gesture she’d grown so accustomed to. Rollo offered her wine that had been poured in their shared nuptial chalice and she was glad of an excuse to turn away from her father. She determined that she would not look at him again for the rest of the day. 

Now she sat beside Rollo as yet another course of the meal was served and she looked on without interest. She tried to put from her mind the prospect of the wedding night that was looming. Rollo nudged her and she turned to see with surprise that he was offering her a choice bit of beef from his plate. She shook her head; she had not regained her appetite; in fact, if anything, it seemed even less than before. 

He seemed disappointed, and nudged her again. “Eat,” he urged. 

“No, thank you.” She turned from him and looked at the musicians, trying to let the music carry her away. 

But a moment later, Rollo drew her attention again. “Gisla, eat.” Now he was offering some plump raspberries – one of her favorites usually. Again, she shook her head. 

Rollo slid the chalice towards her. “Drink?” She gave him a half-hearted smile and took a small sip to placate him. 

This went on for some time as the feast progressed. Rollo ate contentedly, or seemingly so, and chatted with Sinric beside him, or one of his men below. But whenever a new course of food came, he would immediately choose the nicest selection from the plate and offer it to her. She realized that he wasn’t just trying to get her to eat; he was being chivalrous. For a moment, her heart glowed in a strange warmth for him. Was this not just the thing she’d once dreamed of as a young girl, watching all the knights and ladies around her; seeing her father lavish affection on her mother? 

She glanced again at Rollo. When she’d rebuffed him the last time, he’d shrugged and turned to Sinric for conversation. She leaned forward and glanced at Sinric. He must have told Rollo about this custom. And Rollo was just trying to win her over. Her heart cooled again. He wasn’t really feeling warmth for her. Probably he was just trying to make her more amenable to what was to come tonight. She turned away. 

A little while later, she was distractedly fingering the new ring, feeling its strangeness on her hand. 

Rollo suddenly took her hand and touched the ring. “You like it?”

She resisted the urge to pull her hand away and answered noncommittally, “It is pretty.”

He ran his finger over the pattern on the side and said something in Norse. 

Sinric leaned in to translate, “The designs, they are a special sort of knot – ”

“I know, I remember, they are sailors knots. From your ships.” As if she needed another reminder of how these men came here to torment them.

Sinric translated this and Rollo replied in an emphatic voice, seeming to correct him. Sinric tried again.

“He says, no, that this is different, special, just for you.” He paused as Rollo continued, “See there, how the strands are twined in threes? They are like a maiden’s hair, like your hair when I first saw you.”

She drew in a breath for now she saw a delicate braid, just like the plaits Herleva so often put in her hair. It was lovely. 

“And see…” Now Rollo was touching one of the knots among the woven strands of silver. “The knots each have three points. They are for the Trinity. Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” He touched each point of the intricate knots, turning her hand over to show her that there was a chain of the Trinity knots in the design. 

Gisla stared at the tiny knots in wonder. They really were like signs of the Trinity.

But he was not finished. He turned her hand over yet again and gently touched the stone, a rich red garnet.  
“And for the stone, I chose the red of fire for your fiery nature that I admire.”

It was truly special, almost sacred, this ring he’d had made for her. “It is beautiful. Thank you,” she whispered.

The warmth she had felt for him suddenly returned for a moment. She looked at him with a new appreciation, then saw him beaming at her, his eyes warm, and she turned away from him in embarrassment. 

She was spared the need to find something to say by the announcement of the dance. Gisla realized with a jolt that she and Rollo were expected to lead the first set.

“Surely it is enough for the nobles to dance in our honor?” She glanced at Ermengarde, who was clearly enthusiastic about the start of the dancing. 

“No, no, you must lead!” Ermengarde sang out.

Gisla turned to Rollo and saw that he was smiling and offering her his hand. Was he mad? But everyone was watching, expecting her to accept his hand and lead the first dance. Would this day never end?

So she allowed herself to be led to the dance floor where she and Rollo took their place at the head of three other couples, including Ermengarde and her husband, Bertin. The other waiting dancers applauded and the music began. 

Before Gisla had quite readied herself, Rollo had taken her hand and pulled her along into the first steps of the dance. Fortunately, her feet seemed to recall the steps from all her years of feasts and celebrations. She was astounded to find that Rollo seemed quite comfortable with the movements of the dance and performed the turns and passes nearly as well as the other men in the set. Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he grinned at her and gave her arm an extra squeeze as they linked and moved past each other to the opposite position. 

The music changed for the next part of the dance and she was amazed to see that Rollo was keeping up, always turning toward her and then Ermengarde, who somehow had managed to be the lady on his right, and then whirled back to her just at the right moment. She was so thunderstruck that she stumbled slightly and nearly missed a step herself, and then turned to face Rollo who seemed to be chuckling at her reaction. Her sense of rivalry was piqued and she became determined to dance her best with him. They danced in concert until the set ended, the music stopped and all the people came around them laughing and applauding delightedly. 

As the people milled around, smiling and chatting, catching their breath before the next dance, she turned to Rollo and said breathlessly, “How did you know the dance?”

“I learn – your – dance,” he said, beaming. 

“But how?”

“Your – la-dies show me.” He turned toward where Ermengarde and Herleva were talking animatedly. Ermengarde giggled and flashed her eyes at him.

“You danced with my ladies? That is not appropriate.” 

“I – no, uh….” He glanced around in confusion. “I dance – with Sinric.”

Gisla drew back in surprise. “Sinric?”

Sinric himself had approached as they were talking and now explained, “He wanted to learn the dance so I asked your ladies to show him. They danced together and he watched them. Then Rollo and I danced together. He learned very fast – he is a good dancer!”

Gisla looked from one to the other and saw Ermengarde giggling behind them. 

Rollo chuckled, pointed to Sinric’s feet, and said something in Norse that made Sinric laugh. Sinric translated, “He says that after awhile he only trod on my toes every _other_ step.”

A smile came to her lips in spite of herself. The idea of Rollo dancing with Sinric. Poor Sinric! She turned to him. “Thank you for sacrificing your toes for our dance.”

“Consider it a wedding present.” Sinric bowed graciously and ducked out of the way as the dancing appeared to be starting again. 

Rollo watched her smile with a light in his eyes and as the music started again, offered her his hand. She hesitated, wondering about this warrior who would take so much trouble to learn their dance. Then she gave him her hand and let him whirl her away into the next dance. 

This time some of his men joined in and most danced atrociously. But they shouted and laughed and seemed to be enjoying themselves thoroughly. As they paused after the second dance, Gisla found herself pondering how strange it was that she and her knights and ladies could be celebrating together with these men who had been so violent towards them. 

She and Rollo danced several dances, resting during one that Rollo didn’t know, and were about to join in another when the announcement was made that it was time for the bedding ceremony. The crowd cheered and men laughed and made the requisite crude remarks, while the ladies tittered and began to gather around Gisla. The dread that had begun to lift as Gisla danced suddenly came crashing back upon her. If only the pleasant simplicity of the dance could have continued all night. Her ladies encircled her and amidst the general revelry of the room, they led her away to the bridal chamber to ready her. It seemed once again that she was being led to her fate. 

 

~~

 

Rollo had felt that the day was a triumph for him; his vows, the ring, the dance. He had been happy to find that he was wrong about Gisla not smiling today, even if it was his bumbling as a dancer that had made her smile. She had seemed to actually relax a little while they were dancing; she almost seemed to enjoy herself. And then they had to announce the bedding and he’d seen her face turn to glass again and all his successes seemed to be swept away. And he couldn’t even get close to her again now to try to reassure her; the women surrounded her and were guiding her away. His doubts returned as he contemplated the night ahead.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes:
> 
> The goddess Frigga, who sat at her spindle weaving the destiny of man and gods alike, was the goddess associated with the beginning of each new year.
> 
> There is apparently little written about Frankish wedding ceremonies. There is an indication that by the 12th century traditional medieval ceremonies began with the giving of consent by the couple outside the church (the “will you take ____ for thy lawful wife/husband” part), then they entered the church and exchanged the vows, had the Nuptial Mass and Nuptial blessing, if they wished them. The elite had their ceremony inside, although that may have come later and only in England. Because the show appears to have the wedding beginning with Rollo and Gisla kneeling before the bishop, I added an invocation, seen in some later marriage ceremonies, to this one. The ceremony has additional prayers and responses from the congregation that I only alluded to here. The mass and blessing would be after the marriage rite. 
> 
> I borrowed the manner of placing the ring on the bride’s finger from sources on [this](http://celyn.drizzlehosting.com/mrwp/mrwed.html) fascinating site which gathers many medieval and Renaissance sources together to present a nice discussion of various betrothal and wedding customs from different parts of Europe. 
> 
> Gisla’s ring is a cross between two rings that I found when searching for Viking designs; the knots and stone as on [this](http://www.amazon.com/Ellipse-Braided-Wedding-Sterling-Silver/dp/B003077076) one; with the variation of where you see two lines of silver in the rope designs, hers would have 3 strands like in the [second one](http://www.amazon.com/Viking-Braided-Wedding-Sterling-Silver/dp/B002SX6P1U). I’m not sure if these are too fine for the time period, but the “Borre” knot design is from artifacts found among grave goods in a burial there.
> 
> Significance of raspberries: To the Greeks, raspberries symbolized fertility and by the Middle Ages women used it as a tonic to soothe fertility-related complaints. Wealthy medieval Europeans used raspberry for food and as a pigment as well. In early Christian artwork, raspberries were used to symbolize kindness. Raspberry’s red juice invoked the energy of the blood, which runs from the heart and carries love, nutrition, and kindness through the body.
> 
> Medieval dances – Ring dances, those in which dancers joined hands and dances in a circle, sometimes singing along with the music, seemed to be mentioned most often in the sources I consulted. But they were often all women or women led by one man. I wanted a dance that involved couples and ran across [ a source](http://www.thefinertimes.com/Middle-Ages/dance-in-the-middle-ages.html) that indicated that the Quadrille was danced in the Middle Ages. [Another source](http://www.medieval-life-and-times.info/medieval-life/medieval-dance.htm) said that it was brought to England with the Norman Conquest, so I supposed that it could have been danced over a hundred years earlier in Frankia. I pondered the contradiction that it was inappropriate for men and women who were not related to hold hands (or make any other physical contact, of course) and yet there were dances in which they did just that. I suppose that this was one of the settings in which social rules could be broken. So it was likely that young people found it quite a tantalizing pastime. And it is no doubt for that reason that the Church was opposed to dancing throughout much of that period.
> 
> ~~


	8. The Wedding Night of the Princess and the Bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> To my readers, thank you for your patience on this chapter. I wanted it to be just right. I would love to know what you think of this chapter as it is a departure for me in subject matter. 
> 
> Many thanks to Windchimed who not only gave me her usual great copy-editing help, but also offered some valuable story suggestions. 
> 
> And a world of thanks to editor extraordinaire, Swimmingfox, who truly went above and beyond on this one. Be sure to read her version of this encounter, "[Hati and Sköll](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4859912)" which is exquisite and much closer to canon than mine.
> 
> ****

~~

 

Gisla was nervous, and the women attending her were only making it worse, not better. One was dabbing perfume all over Gisla's body, taking unusual liberties with the more intimate parts. Gisla had had enough. “Ermengarde, stop it! I don’t know why you even bother – he won’t care. He is the one who smells!” This wasn’t really fair; everyone grew a little sweaty while dancing. 

Ermengarde laughed. "He smells wonderful – I noticed when he passed me while we were dancing!"

Herleva giggled. “What would your husband say?”

Ermengarde just laughed again. “He won’t know – besides, I can look – and smell – that is no sin!”

Rosamund gave a cough and a stern look to Ermengarde. “Hurry, now, they will be coming.” 

Herleva was brushing Gisla's hair. "Shall I plait it or leave it loose?"

"Loose! Men like women's hair loose and flowing." Ermengarde lifted a strand of Gisla’s hair and let it slip through her fingers.

"Plait it," Gisla ordered. She did not have to change her entire evening regimen to please this man. 

"He can undo it if he likes," Herleva said. 

"Ooh, yes, a man does like to unloose a woman's hair. Perhaps you should put it up with just a pin or two so he can make it all tumble down himself." Ermengarde directed Herleva so that she experimented with a twist or two until Gisla pulled away and glared at them both. 

“Just a simple braid.” 

Herleva nodded and began to comply. 

Rosamund gently patted Gisla's arm. "You are just nervous. It will be fine."

"How can it be fine that I must bed with a – a barbarian?”

“Ah, you are too harsh, no barbarian dances like that!” Ermengarde nudged Gisla playfully.

“Nor would he speak his vows so sincerely,” Rosamund said quietly. 

Gisla knew they were right, but it made no difference to her growing apprehension. “That may be, but it does not mean that I want to be married to him – nor bedded by him.” 

Rosamund smoothed Gisla's robe and chided her softly. “It won't be so bad – remember all I've told you? He seems like a warm sort of man; he will make it pleasant for you. Just be submissive – he will know what to do."

Gisla had no doubt of that. But it gave her no comfort to think of that; it just made her wonder again how many women he had deflowered on his many raids.

Now there was noise at the door: the men had been carousing and arrived with their loud voices laughing and calling out. She dreaded to think what crude remarks they were making.

The younger ladies began to titter; one rushed to pull down the bed sheets while another began to lead Gisla to the bed and tried to untie her robe. Gisla pushed them away.

"No. I will meet him as an equal, not like a whore in a brothel."

"But it is your wedding night! You are supposed to be alluring!" 

“They expect to see a little flesh – it’s normal!” 

Gisla stood firm, staring down the other women. “It is enough that I must be seen by one such man. I will not be ogled by them all.”

Rosamund tut-tutted, shaking her head, but then smiled reassuringly. "You are beautiful and alluring no matter how you meet him. And who knows, he may like this even more."

That was not very encouraging. It seemed that there was no maintaining any dignity in these final moments before –

A loud knock came at the door and more laughing and jesting. Gisla pursed her lips in disgust.

Ermengarde rushed to open the door. Gisla pulled her robe more tightly about her and drew herself up to her full height.

~~

Rollo entered the room, borne along by his men, and saw Gisla standing before the bed, her ladies all around her. She looked beautiful, wrapped in a shimmering silk robe, her hair in a thick braid coiling over one shoulder. 

Some of the men grumbled in disappointment. 

“I thought we’d see some flesh.”

“Shouldn’t she be on her back in bed ready for you?”

Rollo caught the disgusted look on Gisla’s face. He grimaced and turned to his men. “Go on, take your jokes and songs and go back to our quarters. There is plenty of food and mead for you to toast me all night.”

The men roared at this – one commented on how eager Rollo must be. Rollo gave Halvar a desperate look, and Halvar began to marshal the men out the door. They left good-naturedly, singing at the top of their voices.

Rollo watched them leave, then turned and saw that that they were alone. 

He looked at Gisla and saw that she was frozen there, looking exactly like a doe when it had scented a predator. He cast about trying to think of what to say. He wished he could apologize for his men’s crudeness but settled for, “The men are – happy.”

She glanced towards the door and conceded, “Yes.”

He tried again. “The dance is – err, was – good, yes?” He smiled and nodded vigorously. 

She nodded decidedly less vigorously. “Yes.” Apparently not that good. He thought of Sjöfn, Freyja’s handmaiden, bringing together men and women with her love-spells and wished he had some of her magic.

He glanced about the room for some other way to break the ice. He spotted a small table near the bed that had a tray of food and wine. He strode over to have a look. “Ah, food! Bread, cheese, uh…” What did they call these little red berries? “Fruit – and wine.” 

Gisla looked to where he was standing as he snatched a few of the delectable fruit gems and held them out to her. “Come, Gisla, eat.”

She glanced at the berries and then shook her head slightly. “No, thank you.”

He sighed. “Ah, Gisla, you – not – eat.” 

“I am not hungry. Thank you.”

He shrugged, popped the berries into his own mouth, and turned back to the tray. At least there was wine. The wine here was very rich and sweet. He poured them each a glass and walked over to her, handing her one of them. She just stood there with the glass in her hand, staring at him as he took a deep draught. It was indeed very sweet.

“Drink. Wine is good.” He indicated his glass, and took another swig of his wine. And more of it would be even better.

“ _The_ wine is good,” she corrected, and he thought she would refuse to drink. But she took a sip. 

Rollo nodded, “ _The_ wine is good.” He looked into her eyes as she brought her glass down. “ _You_ are – good.” He knew that wasn’t right. “No. You are – beautiful.”

Gisla looked down at her glass and it appeared that she would say nothing. She took another sip of her wine and then said to the glass, “Thank you.” 

He saw that she was trembling, though she was very desperately trying to mask it. He finished the last of his wine, set down his glass, and watched her. He waited for her to drink some more, but she just held her glass and stood before him, saying nothing, staring at him. 

Rollo felt a wave of disappointment; he had hoped after the successes of the day that she would be at least a little more receptive than this. He considered what Sinric had said about the importance of the consummation formalities. That the bed sheets would be examined and Gisla would be questioned by court officials about whether the consummation took place. He couldn’t see her lying about it. But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t force her and have her hate him forever. “Gisla, we – wait?”

She looked at him with confusion, then glanced at the table and shook her head. “No, I am not hungry.”

He shook his own head in frustration. If he could just make her understand that he was giving her a choice. He tried again. Pointing to the bed, he said, “No, we wait. Bed, wait.”

She just gazed at him in uncertainty.

“Gisla. Bed – wait – tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.”

A glimmer of understanding in her eyes. And relief. But then a cloud. “Thank you.” She shook her head regretfully. “We cannot wait. Father will be angry; he will think you _______ the treaty. He will _______ me.”

Rollo understood enough and nodded. “Maybe – good – not wait.”

He realized that with talk and wine he had just been prolonging what to her must seem an agony. He moved closer to Gisla and reached for her glass. She allowed him to take it from her and he felt her eyes upon him as he set it aside. When he turned back to her, she was trembling again.

He whispered in Norse, “I think you were braver when I was coming at you with an axe.” He smiled at her, knowing that she would not understand him, but wanting to see her reaction. 

He chuckled as she shook her head and said softly, “I do not understand” – words he had learned only too well. 

“But you would shake your head even if you did.” Again, she shook her head, this time more gently. He smiled at her and drew close to her. He whispered the words he’d practiced so carefully in Frankish, “Do not be – afraid. I will not – hurt – you.”

A momentary flash of relief showed on her face before she shook her head yet again and drew herself up, facing him with something akin to defiance in her eyes. “I am not afraid,” she asserted. 

He nodded, chuckling softly. “Good.” And he took her in his arms. 

~~ 

Gisla tensed, expecting that he would take her immediately to the bed and make her disrobe. But he embraced her – a gesture that she had not felt since she was a child and her mother embraced her so. 

But this was no parental embrace. She felt his heat as he drew her closer to him, felt his heart beating against hers, smelled the strange, masculine scent that she had not been able to put a name to since he’d come. But it was tinged with rosemary; he’d washed, just like the men of her court, and he had changed his tunic. She felt his hands, wandering. 

He began by stroking her hair, running his hand over the thick braid that Herleva had made for her. He kissed it, oddly, and then whispered in her ear. “Thank – you.” He let her braid slowly slide through his fingers, before finding her hand, where the garnet ring sat. He drew her hand up and showed her the ring again, touching the woven strands of silver while gently stroking her fingers. “Thank – you.” 

He must have thought that she had deliberately had her hair plaited in the manner that he’d remembered from that day on the wall. Well, she _had_ done it deliberately, but not for the reason he thought. She considered explaining since any sort of lie was anathema to her. But she had not the words to make that known and, she admitted to herself, she did not now want to anger him by openly scorning what he might find enchanting about her. She was ashamed of her fear, but she kept remembering what those men did to the women of Paris and could not help it. So she only said, “You are welcome.” He kissed her hand and moved his own up her arm slowly. So this was her reward.

He ran his hand over her arms, her shoulders, her back. Such liberties. And yet they were not liberties. He was free to touch her in any way he liked. She swallowed, knowing that he would do much more than this. She did not move, not wanting him to continue, yet she knew that she had no choice.

He kissed her neck, cheek, temple. Her mouth. He lingered there as if he was tasting her; this was not the chaste and respectful kiss of earlier at the ceremony. As before, she was surprised. He was gentle, not demanding. She expected that any moment he would become the fierce warrior that she’d first seen on the wall and forcibly take her. 

But instead he moved his lips along the other side of her face, trailing kisses down her neck as he drew her close again. Continued stroking her, caressing her. It unnerved her, the way it was making her feel, as if she had no control over her own body. But of course she didn’t. She – and her body – belonged to him. 

Now his hands were wandering down her back and below, and suddenly he drew her right into his body. She resisted him then, but pulling back only made his hands grasp her more firmly, and she knew this was the beginning of the inevitable. His hands lingered there, caressing her, making her more and more uncomfortable.

Suddenly he loosed her a little and turned her around, pressing her back against him. She gasped as one of his hands slipped around her side and curved around her breast. He fingered it and to her surprise she felt her nipple stiffen in response. She was further shocked to feel him harden behind her and when she tried to pull away slightly, he only drew her closer to him.

Then, with one hand around her waist, he slipped his other into her robe and caressed her naked breast. She nearly jumped out of her skin to feel his hand there, kneading, pressing, thumbing her. 

When his hands went lower and untied the belt of her robe, she tensed. He stepped back, slid her robe over her shoulders, and off her body. She whimpered in embarrassment, for now she stood completely naked before him, shivering a little. At least she didn’t have to look at him, for he returned to stand behind her, drawing her back against him. And his hands traveled down her body.

~~ 

Rollo slid his hands down her breasts, her belly, and enveloped her with his arms about her waist, kissing her bare shoulders, savoring the smoothness, and her fragrance which reminded him of the twinflower of the meadows of Kattegat. And before when he’d kissed her lips – those lips that so often were pursed with disapproval of him – they were sweet. Was it the sweetness of the wine, or was it just her? He had longed to slip his tongue inside and sample the rest of her mouth, but resisted, not wanting to startle her. Tonight he would temper his appetite; he would touch her in every possible way, show her that he could be something other than a brute. Finally he allowed one hand to meander down her belly, slowly, teasingly, and at last, between her legs. 

She shifted, shying from what he was doing, but he held her more firmly with his left arm as he stroked her with his right. She twisted in his arms, giving little staccato bursts of breath as he made her ready. 

~~

Gisla was shocked, embarrassed, mortified to the core. This man, this stranger, foreigner, her enemy, was touching her in places no one had ever touched, not her maids who helped her bathe, not even her. He seemed to have no shyness in exploring every bit of her body, even her most private place. She wished he would stop, but at the same time found herself fearing that he would; that this gentleness would be replaced by the brutality she knew must come. As she felt him stiffen behind her, she feared he would do as she’d learned that some of the men did to the women of Paris – throwing them down over a bed, a wagon, a pile of linens, and taking them as if they were animals. She shifted away, trying to turn in his arms. At least he must face her when he took her, she thought. But he held her more firmly and she felt a sob rising in her chest. 

He resumed touching her, his hand moving in circles between her legs. She felt an odd sort of sensation, something she’d only felt once before, when she’d dared to ride astride as a girl, despite her mother’s objections. Something had stirred in her briefly, and then her mother had insisted that she use the proper saddle and ride as a lady. Her father had merely laughed and said, “She should have been a boy.”

She should have been a boy. A man. If only she had been a man. Then _this_ man wouldn’t be touching her, taking license with her, possessing her. If she’d been a man she would not be married to him; she would have been fighting him on that wall, thrusting a spear into his chest and making him fall to his death instead of rising again to torment her. 

As if he had heard her thoughts, he suddenly sank down behind her and lifted her into his arms. She struggled, shocked, panicked, thinking she would fall, or that he would fling her over the foot of the bed, but he clutched her to him and rose, carrying her, looking down at her, his eyes dark. 

~~

Rollo had become impatient, his want, his need for her so great that he felt he could no longer wait. He found her shyness arousing; it had been so long since he’d had a woman who wasn’t eager, even aggressive in her lovemaking. To be the aggressor, even in a gentle way, was arousing. He thought for a moment of the women he’d taken against their will and a sliver of guilt rushed through him. But he was not brutalizing her; this was not rape, it was his right as a husband – and she’d agreed that they must. He would be as gentle as he could. To be the first to touch her, to have her, to teach her to be his lover. 

After he laid her on the bed, he could not help lingering to look at her, drawing his eyes down her pale, slender body. She was beautiful. But then she covered herself with the sheet. Surely she must know that he would want to look at her? And that he would want her to look at him. But she turned away as he began to undress. He smiled to himself as he pulled off his tunic and undid his breeches. One day she would watch and he would make his eyes burn into hers with desire. But for now, he quickly slipped out of his clothes, and into the bed. She shrank from him, but did not fully move away. He curled himself around her and began to caress her again, returning to all the places he’d touched before, enjoying her little gasps and movements as he tried to stir her more fully to readiness. 

Now he rose to his hands and knees and worked his way down her body, kissing first her cheeks, her forehead, then her lips. He longed to force her mouth open and take her fiercely, but held himself in check, surprising himself at how exciting it was to force back his desire and curb it until the right moment. He moved his lips down her neck, kissing her all the way around it just above the chain of her cross, which she still wore at her throat. His own pendants dangled against hers as he proceeded, merging wolf with cross once again. 

He kissed her breasts, her stomach. He could not stand much more. She writhed under his mouth and he realized that he was tickling her with his beard, so he did it some more until she tried to twist away. He slid his hand down her belly, smooth and flat, to between her legs. She gasped as she had done before, but did not pull away. He continued the smooth, round, movements he’d been making earlier, and carefully allowed his finger to touch her further down, probing gently, barely entering her, finding that she was wet. Good. He smoothed his finger over her and carefully, slowly, slid it into her. She made a sharp intake of breath. He rose up slightly to look at her face and saw that she didn’t appear to be enjoying it despite her noises; that these were noises of surprise, not pleasure. 

~~

Gisla was shocked; never had she lain next to anyone naked. And this man, in all his audacity, now lay against her and she could feel the strength of his arms as he stroked her body. He was warm, hot even. She’d heard Ermengarde and some of the maids whispering about the things that men did, and Rosamund had explained what the act of consummation was, but she’d not imagined that a man might touch her with his hands or his mouth on her body or that his beard might be rough against her skin. And then he had his fingers inside her and she could feel that she was wet there. How had that happened? She felt embarrassed, humiliated. But now he was moving above her, and she knew it was time. 

~~

He steeled himself to maintain control as he moved between her legs. He took his weight onto his arms and parted her legs gently with his one knee as he moved the other beside it. He kissed his way up her belly, gently kissed her breasts once each, and then her neck, and finally her lips. “My Gisla,” he whispered in Norse in her ear. She shivered and gasped as he gently probed her. He raised himself a little to see her face and saw that she seemed to be anticipating it, bracing herself. He kissed her again, gently, probed a bit more and finding her, pressed himself slowly into her, just slightly, carefully lowering himself and moving upward at the same time. Touching his chest to hers, he pushed himself more into her, realizing that despite his attempts earlier, she was small and tight and he would have to thrust harder. He could scarcely control himself now and made a monumental effort not to hurt her as he eased himself into her flesh. She cried out, and he raised himself again to see her face. 

It was screwed up in what he could only call anguish. He did not wish to hurt her further, but knew no way to avoid it. Deciding that it was best to do it quickly, he pushed himself fully into her, feeling her reaction with his entire body. But his lust for her grew and he was overtaken by the sensation of her tightness; he was her first; she was his alone. He closed his own eyes and gave in to the feeling, moving slowing to a rhythm that suited him, ignoring the little moans and cries she gave now and then, pretending they were sounds of pleasure. He felt his own passion build and groaned out her name as he finished inside her, pulsing again and again within her. He panted, allowed himself to collapse on her, covering her, owning her. He’d taken her, she was his. His princess. 

~~

It was done. She was his wife. And now she was trapped as he lay upon her, breathing heavily. She had never felt so powerless. She tried to draw a breath and could not, gasped, and almost wished that she would never draw another breath. She fought back the tears; she would not let him see her so weak, so defeated.

~~

Gisla struggled a little and Rollo realized that he was crushing her. Siggy had never minded that, but this was his _princess_ , his _wife_. He raised himself so she could breathe, but was loathe to pull out of her yet. He looked at her face, saw tears running from her tightly closed eyes. He reached up and gently wiped them away with his thumb. “My Gisla, don’t cry,” he said softly. As if she understood him, she sniffed loudly and fluttered her eyelids to blink away the tears. He smiled down at her, hoping she’d open her eyes and look at him, see that he’d meant no harm. He realized that all during this, her hands had been tightly clasped to his shoulders. He had not noticed when she’d put them there; he thought longingly of her wrapping her arms and legs around him. One day she would. 

She gulped air, gave him an embarrassed look as if ashamed to have made a sound, and turned her head away from him. He smiled at her offended innocence, and kissed her neck, her jaw, her cheek, attempting to get her to turn and let him kiss her lips. She did not, so he kissed her hair and then raised himself to pull out of her. As he did, he took her in again, her body now slightly flushed from their activity, her chest heaving breaths, shuddering a little as she tried not to cry.

She kept her head away from him, closing her legs tightly together, as if to stop what had already happened. He lay on his side next to her, dropped his arm over her waist and drew her closer to him. He sighed contentedly and laid his head down beside hers on the pillow. 

All of a sudden she made a little sound and moved away from him and he sat up slightly to see what was wrong. She had put her hand between her legs and her mouth had dropped open in dismay. He wondered for a moment if she’d had more pain. Then he realized that she was troubled that his seed was now spilling out of her. He chuckled gently. “Shh, Gisla, it’s only my seed.” 

She shook her head and turned to give him a look of disgust. She glanced over to a table where there was a washbowl and a stack of linens, but she seemed not to want to move. He got out of bed and crossed the room quickly, grabbed a couple of the linens and returned to her. He started to put the cloth between her legs but she grabbed it from him and pressed it to herself, turning away from him. He took care of himself and tossed the linen aside. 

Gisla remained turned away from him, and he climbed back into the bed and curved himself around her. “Gisla, it’s all right.” She did not answer, not that she would know what he’d said, but he wished she would at least nod or give some sign that she was not utterly disgusted by the whole thing. He had tried to make it good for her. But she kept her back to him. So he curled himself against her, kissing the back of her neck and stroking her hair. 

At last she sighed and seemed to relax. He pulled away from her a little, made some space and pulled her onto her back again. She turned to him with a worried look then. He smiled at her, his eyes lingering on her face. He turned onto his back as well, sliding his arm under her neck and curling it around her, gathering her to him, drawing her onto her side, coaxing her head onto his shoulder. “Sleep, Gisla,” he said in Frankish.

She squirmed, clearly uncomfortable with the position. But she did not move. 

He lay back and let himself relax at last. Allowed his mind to drift. He sighed deeply; the anxieties of the day were lifting. He had wed and bedded his princess; she was his. Well, in body at least. He glanced down at the soft brown head on his shoulder. He sent a prayer to Sjöfn that he could win her heart.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/cgrIEYM)

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Historical notes:
> 
> Bedding ceremony – Ceremonies varied, but often included formal supervision of the couple as they consummated the marriage, sometimes in the same room with the couple, whose only privacy would be a curtained bed, or the officials might be just outside the bridal chamber in an anteroom. Officials might inspect the sheets or question the bride as to whether she was “satisfied” with the marriage, meaning that consummation had taken place. 
> 
> Sjöfn – a Norse goddess of love; the handmaiden of Freyja. According to one source, her main role was to get men and women to fall in love and be in love; to forget their anger, sorrow, wounds and hatred. Another source mentioned that she carried out duties and responsibilities concerning matters of romance between gods and mortals. On earth, she was all but strictly a deity for women who used spells and called upon her for magic to keep their Viking husbands at home rather than discovering and invading new lands.
> 
> Freyja –Norse goddess of the earth, fertility, beauty; a warrior goddess, a Valkyrie, and also the goddess of sensual love.
> 
> Bathing and scents – Rosemary was used for washes and bathes in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. These things were said about the use of rosemary: “To give your sovereign a bathe or a stewe so-called…you should have ready a basin full in your hand of herbs hot and fresh and with a soft sponge in hand his body...wash.” William Langham's Garden of Health (1579) suggested rosemary: “Seethe much Rosemary, and bathe therein to make thee lusty, lively, joyfull, likeing and youngly."
> 
> Twinflower – The national flower of Sweden, Linnea Borealis, named for Carl Linnaeus as it was his favorite. It is supposed to be very fragrant. To see what it looks like, click [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Linnaea#/media/File:Linnaea_borealis_8803.JPG). 
> 
> Sidesaddles – There are images of women riding “aside” in Greek and Roman art and by the Middle Ages there were sophisticated side saddles. Some had the woman actually sitting completely to the side with her feet on a little platform and the horse was led by a servant. Later ones turned the rider towards the front and had a pummel for her leg to hook over. It’s not clear exactly how 10th century Frankish women would have ridden, but as Gisla is a princess and wears fine clothing, I supposed it wouldn’t be amiss to have her expected to ride sidesaddle and potentially have her mount be led by a servant.


	9. The Princess and the Bear in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>    
> In which Rollo and Gisla reflect on their wedding night.  
>    
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    
> Many thanks as usual to my beta-reader, swimmingfox, and editor, Windchimed.
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long. Real life intervened. 
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated and really do spur me on!  
>   
> ~~
> 
> Dedicated to the people of Paris -- thinking of them as I finished this chapter, 11-13-15.
> 
>    
> 

~~

 

_Gisla stood on the wall surveying the river below. So many ships and so many men. The Seine was littered with them._

_One man stood out: a tall, bearded, dark-haired warrior, fighting with no tunic, his chest spattered with blood and some strange markings, swinging his axe madly as he climbed. He caught sight of her as he neared the top and their eyes met for a brief, bewildered moment before he fell._

_But he didn’t fall. He was supposed to fall. And now he was climbing over the wall, slashing at her brave soldiers with a fury she’d never seen before. Man after man fell attempting to stop him. He made it to the walk and was striding forward, hacking at any man who came near him. He was coming right at her._

_She should run, take the Oriflamme and run. But she was frozen in place. All she could do was wait as he came closer and she could feel her heart beating wildly in her breast as he approached, his axe raised high. She did not look away, but locked eyes with him and braced herself for the blow that must come._

_But it didn’t. There was no blow – and no axe. Instead, his arms came around her and pulled her into a fierce embrace. And strangely, all she could think of was that the blood would stain her coat. She looked down to see the bodice, which had been so beautiful with embroidery, and was shocked to see that there was no coat. She was naked. And his skin was pressed right to hers._

She awoke with a start. It took her only a second to realize where she was – and that the nightmare had become a reality. His skin was pressed to hers; she still lay with her cheek on his shoulder, their bodies right next to each other, his arm still around her. Her _husband’s_ arm. All the weight of the events of the past few days came crashing down on her at once as she lay in the dim room, naked and vulnerable to this man. 

She wanted desperately to rise, to be away from him, at least for a while, but if she moved and he woke, he might want her to –

She moved slightly, testing whether he would wake. But no, he seemed to be sound asleep; she breathed a sigh of relief. Carefully she raised his arm and slipped away from him. She glanced back to see if he stirred, but he only resettled himself and slept on. The candles were burning low, but she could see enough to find her robe, abandoned on the foot of the bed; she slipped it on and padded to the bathroom.

She used the privy and stifled a sob to see the blood on her thighs. She longed to wash it away along with the strange scent of him that was now left upon her. She took a linen cloth and bathed a little from the washbasin and felt a bit better. But she was left with an ache in her private place, and in her back as well. So this was the joyous act that Ermengarde always hinted at?

Gisla found a fresh chemise and slipped it on, feeling a sense of comfort from the familiar smoothness against her skin, a defense against the humiliating nakedness that he had forced upon her. She replaced her robe, wrapping it tightly around her and wishing that it was thicker. 

She needed to pray. She wondered what time it was; she had not heard any bells, so she could not have missed Prime. But could she have gone anyway? Would he let her go to prayer service? What was she allowed to do now? Nothing had been said about what she could or couldn’t do when she became his wife.

She went back into the main room and glanced at the bed. It did not appear that Rollo had moved. She made her way over to the prie-dieu and lowered herself gratefully down to the kneeler. She folded her hands on the rail as she so often had done, but found that nothing came from within. The only thing she could think of was how abandoned she felt by everyone she’d ever known. How violated she felt. Why had God made the joining of man and woman such a vile act? 

Why, Father, had this happened to her? Had she sinned in some special way? She bowed her head lower and begged for forgiveness for whatever she had done. Then she remembered her wedding vows and realized that she must pray for acceptance of this new lot that God had brought to her. “Father, please grant me understanding of your plan for me. I only want to serve you as I always have tried to do.” 

She found that her faith returned to her with the familiar thoughts of service and devotion. She recited the prayer of serenity, begging the Holy Father for comfort and peace.

~~

Rollo awoke in frustration. He had been dreaming of the white hart again. He’d been hunting it, stalking it slowly and carefully, and it seemed that he’d finally caught it. He’d loosed his arrow and his aim had been true; the elegant beast had dropped. 

But when Rollo had approached to collect his kill, the animal had risen, though in some pain, and leaped away. He had missed the heart. 

Now he glanced around in confusion. This was not Kattegat. His wine-drenched brain clamored for answers and all of sudden he recalled where he was and why he was here – he was married to his princess. And – she should be here in bed with him. Where had she gone? He felt a sudden sense of loss. But just as he was about to rise to find out where she was, he heard her voice in the room. It was low, but pleading. Who could she be talking to?

He rose to his elbow and looked around the darkened room. He could still see dimly across the room. Gisla knelt at the little praying altar, her head bowed in prayer, and seemed to be pouring out her sorrows. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach to realize that she had not reconciled to their marriage. It occurred to him that for her this could well have been the worst night of her life while to him it had been the best of his. Well, at least the beginning of the best of his. 

He felt the urgent need to have her back with him. 

“Gisla.”

She looked up, startled.

“Come – bed. Cold.”

She whispered, “I am praying.”

“Pray in morning. Sleep in night.”

She frowned at him through the dim light and then turned back to the prayer stand. He thought at first that she was going to refuse, but she whispered a few more words, then crossed herself, kissed her cross and tucked it into her robe, and rose. She walked slowly over to the bed.

“Come, bed. Sleep, Gisla.” He beckoned with his hand and a smile, trying to reassure her. 

She looked hesitant, but began to undo the tie on her robe. Then she glanced down, as if embarrassed, and turned away from him to finish removing the robe. He smiled at her modesty. He’d already seen her entirely; why should it matter now? And then he saw that she wasn’t even naked under the robe, she wore a white gown underneath. He smiled again. Did she think that he could not remove it? He pulled the sheet further back to let her in. She stood there, still hesitant, as if deciding if she must remove the nightdress. He patted the bed. “Come. Cold.”

She made her decision, and climbed into the bed in her gown. She lay on her side facing him, lying only close enough to him to be considered in the same bed. He lowered the sheet over them and moved closer to her, turning on his side facing her. She had a worried look on her face. He reached over and kissed her on the forehead and whispered, “Sleep, Gisla.”

She nodded and closed her eyes like an obedient child. He dropped his arm over her waist and snuggled up to her a bit closer. As he moved to rub his feet against hers, he felt that hers were like ice and he exclaimed, “Gisla, cold!”

Her eyes flew open in alarm and she said fearfully, “I am sorry!” 

He chuckled. “I–” He tried to think of how he could say that he was joking. “I not – angry.” He smiled again and rubbed his feet against hers some more and she must have seen that he was only teasing for she relaxed a little. He drew her closer, kissed her on the cheek, and seeing dread in her eyes, said softly, “We sleep. Sleep, Gisla,” and closed his eyes. Then opened them again to see if she understood that she had nothing to dread right now. He saw that she was just looking at him, but then she nodded and closed her eyes. 

“Good night,” she whispered.

*

The sun was just up when Rollo awoke again. He did not have to look for Gisla; she remained where she’d been earlier, but her eyes were open, staring at him. He smiled at her and she pulled back, startled. She blushed as if she’d been caught doing something improper. 

“Good morning, wife,” he whispered to her. 

Hesitantly, she answered, “Good morning.”

“You not sleep?”

She nodded. “I slept a little.” She glanced toward the window and said plaintively, “I want to go to prayer.”

“Prayer? Now?” She was asking, not demanding. And he had told her she could pray in the morning. But on their wedding morning? He had expected them to spend the morning – perhaps much of the day – in bed. He wanted another chance to win her over, to show her the pleasure of lying together. But she was frowning now, and he realized that something had gone wrong last night. He had not taken away her fear, her loathing. “I go for Sinric. We talk.” 

She looked troubled, but nodded.

He sat up and got briskly out of bed, and as he moved to look for his clothes, he saw that she had turned her head to avoid seeing him naked. He shook his head. Not the wedding morning he’d been imagining. He found his clothes and pulled them on quickly. 

As he headed for the door, he glanced back and saw that she had risen and was pulling on her robe. “I come back – uh – now.”

She dipped her head and nodded. 

Rollo raced down the hall, surprising the guards in the hall, and tapped on Sinric’s door. When no one answered, he opened the door and peeked in. Sinric lay sprawled on the bed, almost as if dead. A sudden spark of fear came into Rollo’s heart as he dashed across the room to check his friend. But just as he drew near to him, the man stirred, groaning. 

“Oh, my head!”

“I’m sorry, Sinric. Too much mead?”

“Yes, and wine, and ale, and who knows what else?”

Rollo chuckled and looked about for something to get the little man. Wine stood on a table in the corner, so he poured him a glass and brought it to him. Sinric sipped gratefully. Then he looked up at Rollo in bemusement. “You are up? And here? Not with your bride? I take it things did not go so well?”

“No, not as well I would have liked.”

“So she refused you? Fought you?” The man sounded incredulous.

“No, no, she complied. Not happily, but she did. But something is wrong, something more than just – well, I don’t know. And I can’t ask.”

“But Rollo, she won’t want talk about such things with me present. She will be embarrassed, humiliated.”

“But how else can I speak to her? To find out why she is so unhappy. Why she wants to go to prayer right away this morning.”

“What did you do to her? Weren’t you – um – patient – with her?”

“Yes, yes, of course, I told you that I would be. But I thought she would at least be somewhat friendly this morning. I must talk to her properly.”

Sinric nodded, and then groaned again and cradled his head as if it must be spinning. Rollo offered him another glass of wine, but Sinric refused. 

“Rollo, if I must talk to her, let me first talk to her alone, just for a few minutes, to try to ease her mind.”

“Alone?” 

“Yes. It might make it less embarrassing for her to tell me what she is thinking without you standing there terrifying her. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course, of course! But – terrifying her? Surely I don’t terrify her.”

Sinric sighed. “No, but you can be intimidating. Just let me talk to her for a few minutes.”

“Very well. Whatever can be done to make her understand that I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Sinric gave him a strange look but rose, pulled on his fur cape, and came with Rollo.

 

~~

 

Gisla had put on her robe and was sitting at the little table with the food when Rollo returned with Sinric. She was surprised when Sinric explained that he wanted to speak to her alone, but she agreed. Rollo left the room to explore the little wardrobe where Sinric must have told him his clothes and other things had been placed.

Sinric came to the table and gestured to request permission to sit. Gisla nodded her assent. 

“Your Highness, Rollo would like to know why you were so upset this morning. Did he hurt you, perhaps?”

Gisla was shocked, “Hurt me?”

“Yes, um, in the…marriage bed.” 

“This is not an appropriate thing for you to speak to me about.”

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry, but Rollo –”

“Of course, he insisted. He has no manners.” This was not really true, but she was not feeling generous now.

“Yes, no, well. It’s only that you were so silent. And that you asked to go to prayer instead of spending the morning with him.” Sinric gave her a pained look. 

“Then he is displeased with me.” Her stomach sank; if Rollo spoke to her father about it, he would be angry. And could it nullify the treaty? Would she have lost her virtue for nothing?

“No, on the contrary. He wanted to please you, but was troubled that he did not.” 

Gisla did not answer at first. How could she tell this man how she felt about all the shocking things that Rollo had done to her last night? “Why should he care if he pleases me? He is a man; men do not have to please women.”

“But some men take pride in pleasing women in bed.”

She looked away in embarrassment. 

“Your Highness, I know it is uncomfortable to talk like this. Perhaps it might be easier if I tell you a little more about myself.”

“Why would that be easier?” 

“Well, I…I understand something about how you might feel. I was married; I remember my wedding night and how my little wife felt.”

Gisla was surprised at this turn in the conversation. “What do you mean?”

“I was young and brash; I was clumsy and I rushed and hurt her. She wept and I felt like a heel. But we talked and she told me what was wrong and I was more careful after that. And after a little while, it got much better. It was lovely. We were both very happy.”

“What happened to her?” Gisla did not think the story ended happily. “Where is she now?”

He said sadly, “In Helgafjell, err, Heaven, I suppose. A fever spread through the city that year; so many people died. It took her and our little ones.”

“You had children?” Gisla could see the grief in the little man’s eyes. How did she not see that sadness before?

“Yes, two boys and a girl.” He looked away beyond Gisla as if imagining them. “They say a man is supposed to love his sons more, but my little girl…she was my gem. Probably because she looked so much like my wife.”

They were both silent for a moment. Then, Gisla asked softly, “And you never married again?”

Sinric shook his head. “No, when they died, I could not understand why the gods had been so cruel – why did they take only them and leave me? And everywhere that I looked, I kept seeing their faces, my wife at her loom, my sons playing at soldiers, my little girl picking flowers. She had hair just so –” He pointed to – and very nearly touched – the end of Gisla’s braid. “I could not bear to stay there. That’s why I became a wanderer. In the spring I found a merchant ship and began to travel the world. I’d stop in one place for a while, find work, learn the language, and when it all got too familiar, I’d move on.”

Gisla looked at him earnestly. “What a tragedy. I am so sorry.”

The little man smiled sadly, “Thank you. But I didn’t tell you this to make you sad for me. I only wanted you to know that you can speak of things with me that will not shock me or embarrass me as they might another person. I was married for over eight years; I remember much that my little wife told me.”

Gisla was quiet for a moment. Then she said softly. “It was as you said. He – Rollo – he did not mean to hurt me. He was even gentle, but….” She stopped, uncomfortable. Sinric nodded, he seemed to understand. “I was silent and sullen because…I was sad that it was final. We are married and it cannot be undone. You know that I did not want this marriage and now I must…lie with him whenever he wishes. It is mortifying. That is why I was praying earlier – and why I want to go to prayer now.”

Sinric nodded with understanding in his eyes. “Are you praying for deliverance?”

She looked away in embarrassment. “No, though I did before.” She took a breath and asked, “Is he very angry that I wish to go to prayer?”

“No, a little disappointed, perhaps, as he wished to spend the whole day with you. But he is not angry. In fact, he wanted me to apologize for him that he had no morning gift for you.”

“You told him of the morning gift?”

“I had no need to. That is a custom we have in our country too. But the things we give, jewelry, a house, a piece of land, seemed not right for a princess. He wished to know what you would value that he could give you.”

“I do not need any of those things. All that I want is –” She stopped. She had almost said _my freedom_. “I just want to be able to go to prayer when I wish. And to visit the hospital until we must leave Paris.” 

“I will ask him. It may be unusual, but perhaps that can be the morning gift.”

A little spark of hope and peace ignited in her. “Thank you, Sinric.” She looked more closely at this man who seemed to have gone to so much trouble to make her feel better this morning. “And I’m sorry you had to rise so early. You must go and get some more rest. If I am at prayer, we will not need you for some time.”

He dipped his head in thanks to her and rose to leave. He was near the door when Gisla called to him impulsively, “Sinric.” He turned back to her with inquisitive eyes. “You will stay with us for some time, won’t you? Until we – Rollo and I – can speak to each properly?”

He smiled warmly and said, “Yes, of course. It is my honor to serve you both. I will stay as long as you need me.”

“Thank you. I hope that you may…perhaps…find happiness again.” 

His eyes were warm as he answered, “And I hope the same for you.” 

 

~~

 

Rollo had dressed fairly quickly, but paced about for a bit before finally he could not stand it anymore and went back in to the room. He found that Sinric was near the outer door and was about to leave. Gisla was still sitting at the table. He looked to Sinric. 

Sinric nodded and smiled. “I was just telling her highness that you most likely would agree to her choice of morning gift.” He explained the gist of their conversation and the gift. 

Rollo was surprised. “But these are things she always does. I would not stop her from attending prayer or visiting the hospital. I only wanted her to myself today.”

“Well, then, it is a perfect gift. You will have many days of having her to yourself in Rouen. Perhaps this will bring her some peace today.”

Some peace. Exactly what this treaty was meant to bring. Rollo realized that he could not force Gisla to feel for him what he wished; if prayer would help her to come to accept their marriage, then he should allow her to pray as much as she wished. He only hoped she wasn’t praying for his demise. So, glancing at Gisla, who wore a hopeful, yet slightly nervous look, he said, “Yes, then, very well. I will go rouse the men for a training session.” 

He watched as Sinric translated and was gratified as Gisla’s face relaxed and she gave him a slight smile. He smiled back and turned to leave. 

Just then, Gisla’s women began to file into the room. 

 

~~

 

Ermengarde glanced at Rollo and exclaimed, “What? Already dressed? And going out so early?” She turned to Gisla. “And what are we to dress you for today? A tryst in the woods?” 

Rosamund made a disapproving sound as Gisla said abruptly, “Prayer.”

“Prayer! On your wedding morning!”

“Yes. My husband goes to spar with what men are still sober this morning.” She gave Sinric and Rollo a nod as they made their departing farewells and left. 

“Ah, but of course the men drink and make merry for a wedding!” 

“And if the rest of the savages come back today? Much good would this treaty be!” Gisla frowned. “Now please order me a bath and help me prepare for prayer.”

Rosamund gave orders to the serving girls who had followed them in, and soon Gisla was in the midst of her morning regimen. 

As the women helped Gisla into her bath, Ermengarde teased Gisla for information. She had commented over the state of the sheets and Gisla’s tousled hair. 

“Well, how was it? Was he as good as he looks? Will you tell the officials that you were ‘satisfied’?”

Gisla gave her a glare. “It is private. You will not speak in such a free manner about my husband.”

The girl looked sheepish, but still gave a giggle. “Ooh, well, ‘my husband’ – you are properly possessive of him, I see!” Seeing Gisla’s continued frown, and Rosamund’s admonishing look, the girl grew more somber and began to pin up Gisla’s hair so she could bathe. 

Rosamund must have sensed Gisla’s discomfort with the girl. “Ermengarde, go and supervise the preparing of the sheets. You are a matron, you will deliver them to the court officials. You will show proper decorum with them at least, I hope.” 

“Yes, my lady, of course.” She turned away from Gisla and went over to the bed. 

“Herleva, go and arrange Gisla’s clothes. I will help her bathe.”

When the younger women had left the bathroom, Rosamund spoke quietly and hesitantly to Gisla.

“My dear, you seem so upset. Was it so bad then? I didn’t think it would be. But you have no bruises; he’s not beaten you.”

“No. I didn’t resist. And he was…kind.” Gisla thought for a moment about how he had offered to wait and realized that he’d taken great pains to be gentle. But it didn’t change the fact that it had been humiliating and painful. “But it was mortifying. The coupling. So much like – animals.”

The older woman smiled gently. “I know it may seem strange now, my dear, but it will get better. Give it time.”

Gisla sighed. But she nodded to appease the older woman and gave in to her kind ministrations.

A little later, bathed and refreshed, Gisla dressed. Herleva had chosen one of the new gowns her father had ordered for her, a deep blue linen with silver trim. The women exclaimed over how becoming it was. 

Ermengarde had returned by then, announcing that the officials were on their way to ask Gisla about the consummation. Gisla turned to Herleva. “Quickly, the veil.”

Herleva brought forth a plain, although beautifully woven, silver veil. It would cover her hair entirely. Gisla nodded approvingly as the girl began to place it on her head.

Ermengarde exclaimed, “A full veil? But you are so young – that is for old women!”

Rosamund cleared her throat. Her own veil tossed as she turned to the younger woman in disapproval. 

“Ah, oh, I meant no disrespect. You are not old, but still, your veil is that of another time.”

Gisla said reprovingly, “The bishop himself asked me to wear it. He wishes that I would set an example for the women of Paris. He fears they grow too vain and frivolous.”

“No one could ever accuse you of being either vain or frivolous no matter what you wore.” Ermengarde frowned and turned to other duties.

A knock came at the door and Gisla girded herself for the embarrassing, albeit formal, conversation to come.

 

~~

 

Rollo had attempted to rouse his men and found only Halvar in any immediate shape to spar. 

Halvar was surprised to see Rollo. “What are you doing here? I didn’t expect to see you this morning – I figured you’d be in bed the day through!” 

“She wanted to go to prayer; I wanted to spar.” 

“Prayer? Didn’t she get enough of that yesterday?” Halvar got out of bed and started to dress. 

“Apparently not -- she was on her knees praying in the night.”

“She should be on her knees doing other things in the night!” Halvar elbowed Rollo in the ribs.

Rollo said angrily, “That’s my wife you speak of, and a royal princess.”

Halvar looked surprised, chagrinned, apologetic. “I meant no disrespect, Rollo. I was only joking.”

Rollo looked at him sternly, then relaxed. “I know. Although, if she heard you saying that it wouldn’t be a joke.”

“She wouldn’t understand me.”

“She knows a smirk when she sees one.”

“True enough. Don’t worry, I won’t say a word – or smirk at her.” He finished dressing and went over to the food table. “Have you eaten anything? Breakfast will not be for ages. Have a bite – and a sip.” 

They ate and drank in silence for a few minutes. Then Halvar asked, “So, then, how was it? I see no scratches or bruises; she didn’t fight you as you feared?”

Rollo sighed. “No. She didn’t.” He suddenly didn’t want to talk about the night before.

“But, surely you are not – disappointed?”

Rollo shook his head. Halvar was trying to be polite, but clearly expected a little of their typical banter about the women they’d had. He’d not supposed he’d feel so reluctant to reveal how things had really been. “No, it was fine. It was good.”

“That bad, eh?” 

“Halvar, she was a maiden, she was shy – frightened even. But you’d better not ever mention that to her either!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t!” He downed the last of the ale he’d been drinking and clunked the mug down. “Come, I think sparring will do you good.”

 

~~

 

Gisla was on her way to the chapel for prayer, her guards around her. As she rounded the corner to the chapel hall, she met her father coming out from his own prayers. Before she could look down or away, she saw his surprise that she was there. He raised his hand to his guards to hang back and strode towards her angrily. Her own guards withdrew discreetly, and the king stalked up to her.

“You should not be here. You should be with your husband; he will be angry.”

“My husband has allowed me to come to prayer. He has gone to spar with his men.”

“Gisla, he will want you by his side; you must not cross him.”

“Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but you do not need to worry yourself about this matter. My husband has assured me that he does not mind that I attend prayers while he trains. He has even given this right to me as a morning gift.”

“You told him of the morning gift? Surely under the circumstances, that should have been dispensed with. All that matters is that the treaty is fulfilled. If you destroy all that I have worked for –”

That he had _worked_ for! He had _sold_ her. She swallowed hard to hold back the bile that rose in her throat. “Nothing is destroyed. I have fulfilled my part of the arrangement. I am his wife. He is not displeased with me and you have nothing to worry about.” Gisla was nearly in tears. Her father did not even ask how she had fared or how she was this morning. But now he was saying something else.

“And this veil – are you mad? Only old women cover their hair this way.”

“My mother wore such a veil. You did not condemn her for it.”

“That was a long time ago. But Rollo will not like it. From what I understand, these northern people do not follow our customs – the women do not cover their hair at all. You would do well to please him in all things.”

“The bishop asked me to wear it – to set an example to the women of Paris.”

The king was silent. Then, “Just be careful. You must not anger your husband. The treaty must hold.”

“It will not be broken on my account. If he could not be trusted, you should not have made such a bargain.”

He muttered something under his breath, but said nothing more.

“May I go to prayer now? I would not like to keep the bishop waiting. Or do you forbid me, as emperor?”

“You may go, but you must return to your husband afterwards. I will not have him complain that he was deprived of you on the morning after his wedding.”

“We are to break fast together afterwards, and to walk in the garden as he has requested.”

“Good. But you – and your husband – will break fast with me after prayer. Then you will spend the rest of the day – and night – with him.”

Gisla felt her face grow warm at the mention of the night, but she only nodded, and turned away to go to prayer.

 

~~

 

Rollo and Halvar had sparred alone for a time, then some of the other men had drifted out to join them. All seemed a little worse for mead and ale, but showed their true mettle as Norsemen by training as fiercely as if they had not been celebrating most of the night. Rollo bore the mark of such ferocity; he sported a bruise over his left eye.

Rollo broke from the men upon hearing the bells announcing the fourth hour; Gisla would be finishing her prayers. He would go to meet her. Halvar accompanied him, and the men would follow later to break fast with Halvar.

Before they even got near the chapel, Rollo spied Gisla coming towards them, her guards flanking her. At least, he thought it was her – what was that strange headdress she wore? 

Halvar burst out, “What is she wearing over her hair? She looks like one of those women priests.”

Rollo answered uncomfortably, “I don’t know. She seems to have many headdresses. Perhaps this one is just for prayer.” He didn’t know why she’d not worn it to prayer before, though.

As she approached, he saw that her face was calm. She dipped her head slightly upon seeing him, and nodded greeting to Halvar.

Halvar was boisterous in his greeting to her. “Good morning, Princess. I wish you congratulations upon your marriage.” It was in Norse, aside from the “good morning.” 

Gisla was gracious, although she clearly didn’t understand all that he said. 

Rollo attempted to explain. “He say – good marriage.”

“Ah, yes, thank you.” She nodded again to Halvar and he smiled and chuckled like a buffoon. What had gotten into him? He must be thinking of their conversation earlier. Rollo sighed. 

Rollo turned to Gisla. “How was – your – prayer?”

Gisla gave just the faintest of smiles. “It was good, thank you.” She glanced up at his brow. “But I do not think your training was so good.” 

Rollo raised his hand to the bruise with embarrassment. 

Halvar burst forth with, “He was distracted thinking of you and didn’t watch that I was swinging at him,” again in Norse.

Gisla shook her head and looked to Rollo for explanation. 

Rollo used hand gestures and what words he could to explain. “I – think – of you and he – hit – me.” 

Gisla seemed to understand. “You must be more ______. It is how you ____ from the wall.” 

He understood enough, smiled sheepishly, and changed the subject before Halvar could say – or not really say – something more embarrassing. “We break fast now?”

Gisla nodded, then seemed to remember something, and said, “Yes. My father _______ us to break fast with him.”

By now the rest of his men had gathered behind them and Rollo glanced at them, saying, “All of us?”

Gisla seemed to shake her head at first, but then a strange little smile came over her face and she said, “Of course. You are our _____ now.”

Rollo smiled and told the men that they were to dine with the king. They nodded and smiled their approval. “But we must – wash.”

Gisla nodded. “We will wait for you.”

*

A little while later Rollo and his men approached the king’s private dining room, led by a palace servant. The king, standing with Gisla at the entrance, looked up with surprise. He spoke to her in an agitated manner, and she replied blithely. Then the king turned away and spoke to his servants.

Rollo looked to Sinric for explanation. “The king seems upset that we are all here.”

“Yes, it seems that only you were invited. But Gisla said that she couldn’t be rude and not invite all of them.”

“Should I tell the men to go?”

“No, the king has ordered more places at the table to be set for them. He seems not to want to displease you.” He paused and glanced at Gisla. “Did you see that sly smile that Gisla flashed after speaking to her father?”

“Hmm, she is punishing him with our presence?” He chuckled. “I suppose I should be insulted that she is using us to irritate her father, but I find it amusing. And even a sly smile from her is worth an insult.”

The king gave the sign that they should all sit down to eat. Gisla sat next to Rollo and he noticed that she was actually eating. He commented to Sinric about it. 

“This is a good sign, don’t you think?”

“Yes, perhaps her little joke has lifted some of her sadness.” Sinric had told Rollo some of what Gisla had said to him earlier.

Another dish was brought to the table and Gisla took interest and suggested that Rollo would probably like it. He was pleased that she was being so hospitable. He tried the dish, a sweet fried bread with honey on it, and smiled delightedly.

Gisla then made some comment to her father that brought first a frown, then an uncomfortable smile of accommodation. Sinric explained, “She asked her father how you were to have such good food in Rouen without one of the talented chefs from their kitchens. The king has agreed to send one of his best chefs with us to Rouen to cook for you and train others to prepare all the foods that you like. It will be his wedding present to you both.”

Rollo thanked the king heartily and the king waved his hand magnanimously.

After that the king was silent for a while and they all ate, the men talking amongst themselves contentedly, Rollo pleased to see Gisla continue to enjoy her meal. 

Then the king addressed Rollo.

Sinric translated, “What do you think of this veil that my daughter wears?”

Rollo had looked at the king while he was talking and saw that the man had a determined and slightly devious look on his face as he spoke. Rollo glanced at Gisla as Sinric translated and saw that her face had gone somber again. 

“What should I say? If I say that I do not like it, I insult her, if I say that I do, I think I insult the king by disagreeing with him.”

Sinric looked at Gisla thoughtfully and replied, “You want to win Gisla, do you not? You will live with her all your life. You only have to please the king for a few weeks or a month more.” He explained the veil and suggested that Rollo agree – he could always ask Gisla not to wear it when they got to Rouen.

Rollo said carefully, with Sinric translating, “Now that I understand what the purpose of the veil is, I approve. I am honored that she would reserve a part of her beauty for my eyes only. And I have already admired how the people of the city are inspired by her, so I applaud her setting an example for the city.”

The king gave a slight start, obviously irritated, but only nodded and tipped his head in his usual manner, giving a wave of his hand as if to dismiss the topic. Rollo glanced over to Gisla and saw that she looked both surprised and relieved. They continued the meal. He offered her some raspberries with a smile and she accepted them, giving him a slight shy smile in return. He was elated. 

But his joy did not last long. The king, after so graciously giving him part of his kingdom and his daughter, now seemed determined to lessen his satisfaction with them.

“About this ‘morning gift’ – you don’t have to agree to be parted from Gisla during the day. She can stay with you. It is her duty and your right to have her beside you.”

Rollo was wary. Did he do wrong in agreeing to such an unusual morning gift? Had he insulted the king? But Sinric shook his head slightly and Rollo didn’t need any further advice to know how to answer.

“My men will continue to train with yours; so I am busy for some time during the morning. I see no reason why Gisla should not go to prayer and to the hospital as she has always done. Father Liuhard has shown me the importance of prayer, so I would not stop her from praying. Her prayers continue to help Paris, I believe. I think the hospital will greatly miss her presence. Is there a hospital in Rouen? If not, perhaps Gisla and I can endow one?”

Rollo turned his attention from the king to Gisla as Sinric translated. As Sinric finished, Gisla’s face became alight with hope and a smile – which he saw that she was trying to suppress so as not to further anger her father – that Rollo could finally take credit for. The king seemed grudgingly to agree with what Rollo had said and remarked that they could certainly endow a hospital; the city would benefit from it.

The king did not seek more conversation after that. He spoke only to the servants and quietly finished his meal. Rollo noticed that Gisla did so as well, her face continuing to show the peace that he’d observed earlier, when they’d met after her prayer service. He gazed at her with contentment. It seemed that the gods were answering his prayers after all.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    
> Historical Notes
> 
> Prayer of Serenity – Gisla’s prayer was inspired by the well-known prayer “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…” which is a modern rendering of a prayer that possibly was adapted down through the ages from Greek philosophers. Prayers with similar themes have been attributed to St. Thomas Aquinas and St. Francis of Assisi, who lived in the 13th century, so while Gisla lived a few hundred years earlier, clearly such prayers were developing in Catholic liturgy (see this [ link](http://www.traditionalcatholicpriest.com/2014/05/22/where-did-the-serenity-prayer-come-from/). And of course, her prayer could be taken from a passage from the Bible, such as “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, do I give unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, nor let it be afraid.” (John 14:27).
> 
> Sign of the cross (Gisla crossing herself at the altar) – This custom dates back to as early as the year 200 when Christians made the sign of the cross on their foreheads: according to Tertullian, "We Christians wear out our foreheads with the sign of the cross." As time went on, the custom evolved and was imbued with more symbolism and there are several interpretations. In one, the forehead symbolizes Heaven; the stomach, the earth; the shoulders, the place and sign of power. It also recalls both the Trinity and the Incarnation. Pope Innocent III (1198–1216) explained: "The sign of the cross is made with three fingers, because the signing is done together with the invocation of the Trinity...This is how it is done: from above to below, and from the right to the left, because Christ descended from the heavens to the earth..."(see [this link](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sign_of_the_cross)).
> 
> Helgafjell – the "holy mountain" was one idea of the afterlife which appears in West Norse sources. In the holy mountain, the members of the Norse clans would lead lives similar to the ones they had lived in the world of the living. Some psychic people could look into the mountain and what they saw was not intimidating, but instead it was a scene with a warm hearth, drinking and talking. Warriors who died in battle could go to the more famous Valhalla, (those chosen by Odin), or to Fólkvangr, “field of the host” or “army-field," (chosen by the goddess Freyja), (see [this link](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_in_Norse_paganism)).
> 
> Morning gift – in many Medieval societies, this was given by the groom to the bride after the consummation of the marriage. It was given to the woman as compensation for her sexual availability to her husband, or for her virginity if she were a maiden, and to compensate for the hazard to health and life a woman was likely to face with pregnancy. It served to ensure the woman’s financial support during the marriage and she always had use of the morning gift; if the man divorced the woman, she would keep the morning gift. The morning-gift usually included clothing, jewelry and household goods, livestock and slaves, and many times land and estates. The largest recorded morning-gift seems to have been that given by King Gormr to his wife Þyri: he gifted her with the entire land of Denmark (see [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/wedding.shtml%20) for this and much more). It is still practiced by Scandinavians today where new wives are presented with morning rings.
> 
>  
> 
>  


	10. The Princess and the Bear in the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which Gisla learns a bit more about Rollo’s family tree and Rollo learns to read.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Warm thanks to my beta-reader SwimmingFox and editor Windchimed for their usual excellent help and for allowing me to get this posted so promptly.
> 
> Thanks to my readers for inspiring me – comments are greatly appreciated and motivate me to post all the sooner.  
>   
> 

Note: The events of this chapter immediately follow those of the previous one.

 

~~

 

After their breakfast with the king, Rollo asked to walk in the garden, and Gisla readily agreed. She was glad to get away from her father, with whom she was growing more and more angry. 

Sinric trailed along, coming forward when needed to translate, but otherwise he seemed to be trying to make himself invisible so she and Rollo could be alone. 

They walked until they came to a tall, full, tree. It was a mix of greens, reds, and golds in its autumn glory. There was a long bench near it, so Rollo stretched out his hand to indicate that they sit.

Rollo commented that it was his favorite of all the trees in the garden. Gisla was startled. There were many beautiful trees in the garden. Why this one? She turned to Sinric. “Did you speak to my ladies?”

“About the tree? No, why?”

“It was my mother’s favorite. She had it planted here in honor of my birth. She used to tell me that always in the autumn she would think of the time when she had been blessed with her daughter.”

Sinric conveyed this to Rollo, who nodded and smiled. “Then it is fitting that I should be drawn to the tree as I am to you.”

Gisla turned away from him a little, feeling herself blush. She steered the conversation back to her mother by pointing to another tree, smaller, but the same kind. “That is her tree. I had it planted on the anniversary of her death. When I was 8 years old.”

Rollo looked across to the tree. “You were very young to lose your mother.”

“As so many are. Countless women die in childbirth. My mother was no different, despite being a queen.” One’s royal blood did not protect a woman from the pain and danger of childbirth. She realized suddenly that now she would face this too.

“Mine was the same.”

Gisla looked over to him. She bowed her head in acknowledgement of his loss. He nodded back to her. And then he spoke impetuously; Sinric was a little startled and took a moment before translating.

“It’s not enough, the morning gift. It’s a great danger and risk for you. You must name something else that you value that I can give you.”

He seemed quite sincere. So she might as well ask what she had been wondering since breakfast. “Did you mean it about the hospital in Rouen?”

“Yes, of course. Did you not believe me?”

She looked into his eyes and saw that he was sincere. “Yes, I did. It is enough. A hospital that saves lives. Even if I should lose mine. It will live on if I do not.”

“Then it will be built. And it will be named in your honor.”

“I should rather it be named for my mother.”

“As you wish.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments. Then she turned away in embarrassment, recalling how he had looked at her last night. She thought of how he had treated her – so gentle and trying so hard to please her. And the other things: the ring, the vows, the dance, and now the hospital. Could she be wrong about him? Could someone so wild and fierce at war also be refined and cultured? 

He broke into her thoughts. “What was your mother like?” Rollo’s voice had softened, showing respect for the dead.

Gisla stared across the garden at the smaller tree. “She was beautiful and good. She was always loving to me and to the people. Even when I was very small she took me with her to walk through the city and to visit the hospital to cheer those who suffered. She was much beloved of the people. They are kind to me because they remember her.”

“No doubt. But I think they are kind because they also love you.”

Gisla dipped her head in thanks and went on. “I miss her. Especially now.”

Rollo was silent for a few moments after Sinric translated this. Then he said, “If she had lived I suppose she would not have let you marry me.”

Gisla raised her head and said, “If she had lived, I might have a brother.” She thought, but resisted saying, _And he would have fought and perhaps killed you on that wall._

Rollo gave a strange look after hearing the translation and Gisla knew that he had guessed what she had been thinking. But he only said, “My mother did not live either, but I still have a brother.”

“Only one brother? Then Ragnar is the younger?”

“Yes.”

“But how then did he become king? Should _you_ not have inherited the throne?” She stared at Rollo, suddenly thunderstruck.

 

~~

 

Rollo realized with some confusion that Gisla must have supposed that Ragnar had assumed the throne of upon the death of their father. With Sinric’s help, he explained. “Kings are not made by birth and inheritance as they are here. Well, sometimes they are. But my brother became king because he was a strong warrior and a good leader. He had many supporters and the strength to defeat both an earl and a king.”

“But he is a noble. A descendant of a king?”

“No, he – and I – are sons of a thegn of a king. Farmers and warriors, as most men of the north are. Not really of noble blood. Just honorable men of the kingdom.”

Gisla’s face, which had been mournful a few minutes ago as she thought of her mother and his, now became bewildered. “And your mother? She was not a princess then? Or a lady?”

“No, no my mother was not a princess or a noble. She was from a good family, her father was a thegn of King Hring like mine.”

Gisla’s mouth dropped open slightly, and her eyes grew blank. “So you are not of royal or even noble blood. I have been married to a _commoner_.” She rose suddenly and walked briskly away from them.

Rollo’s heart sank as he heard Sinric’s relating of her words. Just when things had been going better, when she seemed to be appreciating him a little more. And now she thought he was beneath her. He had not thought that it mattered – Ragnar had married a princess, why shouldn’t he? He contemplated Gisla’s retreating figure. “Should I go after her?”

Sinric watched her for a moment. “Give her a little time. She must reflect on this news. I hadn’t thought of this; it never came up during the negotiations.”

“Her father never asked? So it must not have been important to him. Or did they think that because I was the brother of a king, I must be of royal blood?” Rollo sighed. “I seem only able to disappoint her. But nothing can be done now, can it? They can’t annul the marriage, can they?”

“No, not since it has been consummated. Unless you express dissatisfaction with her.”

“But I won’t do that. I want this marriage. I will talk to her. She will see that it makes no difference.”

He leaped to his feet and strode forward, but just then, Gisla stopped before a small garden altar. He heard her talking – praying – and he decided he mustn’t interrupt her. Prayer had brought her peace before.

 

~~

 

A _commoner_. Her father had married her to a man with no noble blood. How could that be? It was bad enough that he was so foreign and ignorant of Frankish ways, but not even noble? Did her father even know? Surely he would not have done so if he had. They’d been lied to.

She had only been able to run from Rollo; she could not think of speaking again. She had to collect herself, breathe. She stopped before the altar, and it reminded her once more of her vows and the prayers she’d been murmuring all morning. Serenity. Accepting God’s will for her. But why would God want this for her? She still could not understand. 

She thought of what Father Liudhard had told her this morning after the prayer service. She had sought him out to help her conquer her stubborn will as she rebelled in her heart against the marriage. He said, “My child, you are being tested, just as Job was. God has a plan for you; you must be patient and trust in him.” This, too, was part of the test. 

As she clutched at the altar stone, she repeated the serenity prayer again. A slight peace came over her. And a thought: it made no difference. She realized that her father would have married her to this man no matter who he’d been because he was a skilled war leader and could offer a powerful alliance against the return of his brother. The marriage was consummated; there was no undoing that. She must accept it. Though her heart still railed against it, she forced herself to embrace the truth. She finished the prayer and crossed herself, lightly touching her mother’s cross through her gown. _For the people of Paris_ , her mother would have said. 

She steeled herself to face Rollo, then took a deep breath and turned around. She hardly looked at him, but blurted out, “Pardon me for my rudeness. I – ah – there is another part of the gardens that you may not have seen. Would you like me to show it to you?” She had meant to say more, but found she could not.

Surprise registered on Rollo’s face as he listened to Sinric’s translation. But then he nodded slowly, his face relaxing from the worried look he wore. “Yes, please.” He glanced hesitantly at Sinric, shrugging his shoulders. Gisla turned quickly to avoid his eyes, and led the way.

 

~~

 

Rollo turned to Sinric as they followed the graceful blue figure before them. “What happened? I thought she would berate me as she did when we met in the great hall.”

“She _was_ praying – it must have calmed her. I think you have done right to encourage her to go to prayer when she wishes.”

Rollo glanced at the silver veil swaying ahead of him. “Perhaps this Christian god is more powerful than I have believed.”

They went through a little door in the far wall and came into another walled garden. It seemed to be full of fruit trees and vegetable beds. Gisla explained, “This is where we grow special things for the feast table in case they are not available from the farmers. We grew many more vegetables during the siege that we might feed as many of the people as we could.”

They walked past row after row of plants, bushes, and vines. They went past a large bed with a low wall all around it. It was bare. Rollo noticed that Gisla looked at it wistfully. “What is this plot for? It is the only one barren.”

Gisla glanced it over. “It was my mother’s flower garden. She loved to have flowers throughout the palace. She grew all of her favorites here. But during the siege we needed food more than flowers, so I ordered them removed so that vegetables could be planted. After the betrothal, I ordered it restored so that my mother’s garden plot would be as it was. I would not leave it undone when we go to Rouen. Perhaps I may plant some of the flowers myself? I did enjoy tending them with my mother.”

She seemed to be asking permission. But Rollo did her one better. “Of course. And I will help you. I have been a farmer, after all.” As Sinric made his meaning clear, Gisla looked at Rollo with surprise, colored slightly, and then turned her head and gave an amused, albeit brief, smile. Rollo’s heart lightened. He must remember to amuse her. 

He ventured another little jab at himself, and at her. “As I am just a commoner, I am rather ignorant of the finer things. But I would like to learn to understand your books. Might we go the library?”

Gisla again showed surprise. “You want to learn to read? But you scarcely speak the language! And the books are in Latin.”

“No matter; I can learn it. If you show me.” Rollo hoped that in the process of teaching him, she would relax in his presence and come to realize that he was not so bad – or so ignorant.

Gisla looked doubtful. But she dipped her head in acquiescence. “I will send a servant to see if we will disturb my father by visiting the library.”

 

~~

 

An hour later, Gisla found herself in her father’s library, listening to her new husband read. Or rather, _she_ read, Sinric translated, and Rollo listened and sometimes repeated words. She started with a history of Frankia, which Rollo showed great interest in. He was particularly fascinated by the stories of Clovis and Charlemagne. He seemed disappointed when she suggested that they look at a book of Bible stories instead. But when she told them that her mother had read from this and shown it to her when she was a child, Rollo seemed to take more interest, particularly in the illuminations. He asked about all of the images as soon as each page was turned. He surprised her with his sharp memory for details, recollecting something from an earlier page when she mentioned a figure from the history or from the Bible whom they’d read of before. Though she knew Sinric grew tired and must long for some rest, it seemed that Rollo could go on and on. 

After some time, a servant came to announce that their supper was being served in their rooms. Gisla was not surprised that this had been arranged for them; she knew that after imposing all of Rollo’s men on him this morning, the king would not be inviting them to supper as well. Her father would take no chances that she was not spending time alone with her husband.

*

They returned to their rooms, leaving Sinric to go to his own supper with the men. She and Rollo would have to manage the conversation on their own.

They ate mostly in silence, with Rollo occasionally asking her the names of the various foods so he could learn them properly. He had also asked her, through Sinric, to correct him when he made mistakes in the language. 

After they had eaten and the table was being cleared, Rollo asked about a little book that he’d noticed on Gisla’s praying altar. 

She glanced at the altar. “It is my prayer book. Do you wish to see it?”

He nodded, so she rose and brought it to the table. She carefully turned the pages and he recognized a word or two that he’d seen in the Holy Book. He pointed to one that he’d learned, and pronounced it carefully. “‘Father.’”

Gisla was surprised, and nodded. “Yes.” She pointed to another. “And this?” 

He recognized that as well. “‘Son.’ Ah, and that one is – ‘Holy Ghost,’ no?”

“Yes.” She began to read the prayer and stopped when she came to words that she knew he’d learned. He’d say them, if he could remember, or repeated them after her if he did not. It was strange after-dinner conversation, but it was the best they could do. She was pleased that he’d remembered so many of the words she’d taught him earlier. It seemed that his memory was every bit as good as he’d boasted after his first lesson with Father Liudhard.

He had moved his chair closer to her when they were reading, and after a time, she noticed that he was becoming increasingly distracted from the book. He stole glances at her, seemed to touch her hand deliberately when pointing to words, and at last, he laid his hand on her arm, squeezing it gently and saying softly, “Gisla.”

She looked up at him. And knew. She felt her face grow warm and she closed the book, kissed the cover, and set it aside. Before he could stop her, she rose and called her ladies to ready her for bed. 

 

~~ 

 

Gisla had left Rollo no choice but to retire to his dressing room and change into the nightclothes that had been provided for him. Why could she not have let him undress her? How ridiculous to put on nightclothes only to take them off again. He waited until he heard the ladies leave. 

When he came back in, Gisla was alone and sitting at the table again, but dressed in her robe, her hair braided in the long thick plait that he had enjoyed seeing the night before. He found, though, that he longed to loose it; he’d yet to run his fingers through her hair. Perhaps not seeing it all day had made him want it – and her – all the more. 

He walked slowly over to her and sank down beside her chair. He touched the end of her braid. “Please?” 

She looked down at his hands, saw that he was starting to untie the leather cord that bound her hair, made a little grimace, but nodded. He supposed she must be annoyed that he would undo her ladies’ work. He did not care. 

He slipped the little thong from the end of the braid and ran his fingers again and again through the strands, loosing the hair bit by bit until at last it was completely free. He ran his hands through the length of it, enjoying its cool smoothness as it slipped through his hands. 

He rose and led her to the bed, where he stopped her and began undoing her robe. She stood stock-still, just letting him undress her as before. The evening proceeded much as the night before: he took his time, did everything in his power to break through her defenses and bring her pleasure. And though she was less nervous and did not weep when he took her, he knew that she had not liked it. She was quiet and still afterwards, allowing him to draw her onto his shoulder as he’d done last night, although equally stiff and uncomfortable.

Rollo settled back and tried to think of something that he could do to put her at ease. He thought of a poem that he always enjoyed reciting, “The Lay of Thrym.” It was about Thor and Freyja and had a humorous wedding scene. She would not understand it, but perhaps the rhythm might relax her. And he would show her that despite his low birth he had some education. He took a deep breath and began.

“Wielder Thor awoke angry, missed his hammer, mighty thunderer, ruffled his mane and red whiskers, son of Earth took to searching about….”

Rollo paused, looking down at Gisla’s head, seeing that her eyes were open and that she looked up at him with curiosity. “A poem, about Thor and Thrym, Loki and Freyja.” As if she would understand. She said nothing, but turned her head and rested her face back against his shoulder. He continued, glancing at Gisla as he came to the next words. 

“Off to fair-faced Freyja's palace, these words uttered, Thor first speaking: 'Would fetch, Freyja, your feather pelt to help me find my hammer, stolen?'” Rollo went on, recounting how Freyja willingly gave her feather pelt to Thor; how Thor learned that his hammer had been stolen by the high chief giant, Thrym; and that the giant was demanding Freyja, Thor’s wife, as a bride in exchange for the return of his hammer.

Rollo smiled, thinking of Gisla as his fair-faced Freyja, and stole another look at her. Her face was indeed fair, and she lay quietly, perhaps listening. He wove his way through the poem, letting his voice rise and fall to create the rhythm. He told of how Thor asked Freyja to dress herself in her bridal linen and journey with him to fool the giant into thinking she would marry him, so Thor could get his hammer back. 

At last, he came to the part that had made him think to recite this poem. “Angry Freyja only snorted; Aesir trembled all together; broke she Brisings' brilliant necklace: 'Man-eager would you make me appear, journey with you to giants' domain!'” He went on to recite how since Freyja would not pose as the giant’s bride, Thor had to do it himself, fooling the giant and getting the chance to get his hammer back. Rollo chuckled at how ridiculous it was to think that the giant could be so blind as to think that mighty Thor was a woman. 

He peered down at Gisla again, but she was no longer listening. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing evenly in sleep. Perhaps he had bored her. No. She had only fallen asleep because she did not understand. This night had been no better for her than the first. He would have to work harder to win her. He kissed the top of his Freyja’s head and muttered, “No, not man-eager at all.”

*

The next few days passed much like the first, and Rollo and Gisla fell into a routine. She would go to prayer while he trained with his men, they might go to the hospital together for a visit, or if he needed to train longer as they prepared for the day when he and his men would go to Rouen, she went alone to the hospital. 

They spent the afternoons in the garden, or walking the city, or in the library. And in the evenings he would read with her from the prayer book for a time until it seemed right to take her to bed. Each time he tried as he’d done from the first night to make it pleasant for her, to rouse her passion, and hoped for some return of the affection he was showing her. But each night seemed the same: reticence and a shy acceptance that she must lie with him, and a nearly imperceptible sigh of relief when he finished. Perhaps she just didn’t like sex? Surely he could teach her otherwise? The only thing that gave him hope is that afterwards, she moved herself into the position that he preferred to fall asleep in, with her resting her head on his shoulder. Perhaps some slight affection was growing? He continued to be patient, for they had nothing but time. He went on reciting poems, which she listened to patiently, after having Sinric explain about them, and she would repeat a word or two that she’d heard more than once, then fall asleep. And he would drift off, imagining the day when she would return his passion.

*

One morning after sparring, Rollo returned to the palace to find Gisla talking earnestly to Roland, who had been called away during the training. Rollo stopped in his tracks; he was taken by the caring expression on her face. He was far enough away that they did not seem to notice him, but close enough to see how sympathetically she was talking to Roland. He wondered if it was Gisla who had called Roland away. What were they talking about? Then he saw Gisla give Roland a folded paper. Roland thanked her sincerely, bowed slightly, then turned and walked away.

As soon as Roland was out of earshot, Rollo approached Gisla. She seemed surprised to see him, for it was a little early, but greeted him as she had been doing since their marriage. A slight dip of her head and, “Husband.”

Rollo was in no mood for greetings. “What you – talk with him?”

Gisla’s expression changed to one of defensiveness. “With Roland? It is __________.”

Rollo looked about in frustration. Where was Sinric? He was supposed to meet him after training. He thought he spotted him far down the hall, going the wrong direction. He took Gisla by the hand and started to hurry her along to catch up with Sinric, but she pulled her hand away and stepped back firmly. “I will wait here,” she said with fire in her eyes. He hesitated for a second, but then dashed off to find Sinric.

When he reached Sinric, he told him what he’d seen. “Come, I want to know what she was talking about with Roland.”

Sinric looked surprised. “She talks to him regularly – he is captain of the guard, after all.”

“But this was different; she was warm and friendly – different – not how she speaks to me. And she gave him something. I want to know what they were talking about. Ask her.”

The little man seemed uncomfortable, but they walked briskly towards where Gisla was waiting.

 

~~

 

Gisla waited nervously for the men to approach. Why was Rollo so upset that she had been talking to Roland? She spoke with him other times, and he’d never minded. 

Sinric seemed apologetic when he explained that Rollo wanted to know what she’d been talking about with Roland. 

Gisla gave Rollo an impatient look and answered as she did before. “It was personal. It is of no matter to you.”

Rollo grew angry when Sinric translated this. “Personal? With another man?” 

Gisla felt her face grow flushed. She could see the distrust in his eyes. But what had she done to earn his distrust? “It is only that he would not wish anyone to know.”

Rollo scoffed, “No doubt. Talking privately with another man’s wife.”

Gisla’s mouth dropped open as Sinric relayed this, then she closed it firmly and raised her chin in defiance. She took a deep breath and then answered. “I was congratulating him on the birth of his son. And consoling him because he cannot see his child – or his wife.”

“Child? Wife? I knew nothing of this.”

“There are many things you do not know. He is married to one of my ladies, Clothild, who is my dearest friend since childhood. She is not here. As soon as the siege was lifted, he sent her to their lands so the child could be born where he is to inherit, as is proper.”

Rollo seemed to calm as he listened to Sinric’s translation. “But why can he not go to her?”

“Because he knows my father cannot spare him now that Odo is – away.” She felt uncomfortable as she spoke this last word. She had not told anyone but her father the details of Odo’s leaving.

“But what did you give him? I saw you give him a paper.”

“I did. It was a letter from her telling me all about the baby. She wrote so delightedly of him that I thought it might bring some comfort to Roland to read it.” Gisla’s voice cracked slightly and she grew agitated as she continued. “And if I were not _bound_ here to you I could go to her – perhaps give her some comfort – and share her joy! Everything is ruined because of you and your horde!” 

Gisla was fighting back tears as she finished. She was a little frightened at her own audacity as she waited for Sinric to translate this. She almost stopped him, but recovered herself and looked at Rollo defiantly. 

Rollo looked slightly taken aback by her outburst, but then just stared at her for a few moments as he digested this. Finally he asked, “How far are these lands?”

She was surprised at the question. She thought a moment. “About two days’ ride. Why?”

“So, two days there, two days back, and a few days to visit. About a week, no?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Was he actually considering letting her go?

“Then he should go.”

Not her, but Roland. But it didn’t matter. “He will not ask my father to go; he is too devoted to his duty to even suggest it.”

“But I could suggest it.”

Gisla was astonished. But he was right. Of all the people who could perhaps move her father on such a matter, it might be him. “You could. But convincing my father will be difficult.”

“I will be here for some weeks more; I can supervise the guard. I know them; my men train with them each day. Am I not an ally to be trusted now?”

Gisla’s mind raced. One moment he was distrustful of her; the next he was offering to help her friend. She did not understand, but it would benefit Roland and Clothild. “Yes, perhaps he would agree. I will arrange for us to dine with my father tonight, and you may propose this. It would be best if I introduce the topic and you make the suggestion as you just have.”

Rollo nodded and smiled as if satisfied. She felt confused as he offered her his arm and said, “To the garden?”

 

~~

 

That night, Rollo thought things might be different with Gisla. They had managed to get the king’s permission to let Roland go to see his wife and child – and they had somehow made the king think it was his own idea. Rollo had felt a sense of triumph that he and Gisla had achieved something together. She seemed pleased and was more agreeable the rest of the day than she’d been in the days before. 

Yet the night was no different. Not that she wasn’t yielding; she always was. He had hoped that their success together earlier would make her more warm with him tonight. She seemed unwilling – or unable – to take pleasure in their coupling. With Siggy, he could always rouse her passion even on nights when she wasn’t that interested; she seemed to take her pleasure as much and sometimes even more than he did. Yet Gisla seemed unmovable. But he could not believe that a woman of such fire and passion for her people could not also be passionate with her husband. No, more likely, she would not relinquish her hatred of him. He had been her enemy; why should he expect her to be free with him in bed? He could not win her until she got over that. 

So he recited a story of the Norse gods, this time of Sigyn, the loyal wife of Loki, who stayed with him day and night protecting him from the venom of a snake. He wondered how loyal Gisla might be to him if there was trouble. Long after she had fallen asleep he lay there pondering his future with this woman. At last, he quietly slipped out of bed and donned his clothes. A walk in the garden would do him good.

He stole out of the room, nodded to the guards in the hall, and made his way outside. The sharp, fall air revived his spirits somewhat. _Give it time_ , Sinric would say, _you’re too impatient_. He wondered how long it would take for Gisla to let down her guard with him. Days? Weeks? More like months or even years. He sighed. He’d never thought much of marriage before, but when he did, he’d imagined what he’d seen with his own parents, or with Ragnar and Lagertha in the early years: a loving relationship of mutual respect. Would he ever have this? Clearly Gisla also valued such a thing; she had spoken of her parents’ love for each other – and today, of Roland and his wife’s affection. He must make it grow between them.

But he knew that he would not win her affection with accusations as he’d made today. What was it in him that made him so quick to distrust her? Why did it infuriate him to see her friendly with another man? Perhaps it was shades of Siggy and her involvement with Horik. But Gisla was nothing like Siggy. He should not have accused her. But to see her eyes so soft with concern for Roland and not for him – it was frustrating. And he’d been taken aback at her outburst today – that she felt _bound_ to him. As if she was a prisoner. He didn’t want that. 

He had walked the length of the garden and paced back and forth at the far end. He was about to start back again when he was startled to see a figure coming towards him. He breathed in relief as he recognized the uniform; it was only a palace guard. No doubt Gisla had awakened and sent someone to look for him. He started towards him when he saw that the guard had suddenly pulled his weapon. He looked about for some danger and at that moment realized that someone was coming from behind him, sword drawn. 

The men were closing in on him. 

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Historical Notes
> 
> [This photo](http://www.brucebeckphotography.com/data/photos/1331_1r121004_4397v1.jpg) of autumn color along the Seine inspired my garden scene. I know the trees in Paris today may differ greatly from what was there in the 900s, but I was supposing that the palace would have the resources to include the most beautiful of regional flora if desired.
> 
> Illuminated manuscripts (the books that Gisla and Rollo are reading) are those in which the text is supplemented with decorations such as initials, borders, and miniature illustrations. The earliest surviving manuscripts date from 400 to 600 AD and the majority of the surviving manuscripts are from the Middle Ages. More information [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Illuminated_manuscript) Manuscripts produced in the Carolingian period were made in workshops like the Court School of Charlemagne and later the Court School of Charles the Bald. Many gospels were produced then, such as the Lorsch Gospels (illustration is [here.](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/7b/Codexaureus_25.jpg) and more on Carolingian art is [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carolingian_art)). Ornate book covers were made for many of these manuscripts. [ This one ](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/c/c8/Mus%C3%A9e_Picardie_M%C3%A9di%C3%A9val_01.jpg), an ivory plaque, was made in Reims in the late 9th century and includes a scene of the Baptism of Clovis.
> 
> Clovis I (c. 466 – c. 511) – The first king of the Franks to unite all of the Frankish tribes under one ruler, changing the form of leadership from a group of royal chieftains to rule by a single king and ensuring that the kingship was passed down to his heirs. He is considered the founder of the Merovingian dynasty, which ruled the Franks for the next two centuries. He is also important for converting to Catholicism and bringing about the widespread conversion of the Frankish people and unifying religion across what is now France and Germany which allowed for the later alliance of Charlemagne with the pope and the creation of the Holy Roman Empire.
> 
> Charlemagne (c. 742 – 814) – Also known as Charles the Great or Charles I, he united most of Western Europe during the early Middle Ages and laid the foundations for modern France and Germany. He took the Frankish throne in 768 and became King of Italy from 774. From 800 he became the first Holy Roman Emperor.
> 
> Poem – “The Lay of Thrym” – The term “lay” in this usage is a poetic form; it comes from the Old French, “lai” and is a lyrical, narrative poem written in octosyllabic couplets that often deals with tales of adventure and romance. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poetic_Edda#Heroic_lays) and [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lai)  
> The poem is from the Poetic Edda, a collection of Old Norse poems. In the story, Thor actually fools the giant, Thrym, kills him, and gets his hammer back. To read the entire thing in poetic form, click [here.](http://alliteration.net/poetry/thrym.htm) To read it in narrative form in a more modern-sounding way, click [here.](http://www.pitt.edu/~dash/thrym.html)
> 
> Brisings’ brilliant necklace – In the poem, Freyja is so angry that she breaks her treasured necklace, the Brísingsamen. A version of the story of how Freyja got the necklace is [here.](http://www.crystalwind.ca/norse-mythology/freyja-and-the-necklace-of-the-brisings) For an analytical version of this tale see [here.](http://www.freyjafirst.com/Brisingamen.aspx)
> 
> Medieval letters between knights and ladies – While not all noble people could read and write, there were those who were educated. I chose to have Roland and Clothild (and of course, Gisla) be educated well enough to read scripture and history as well as to write letters. There are examples of medieval letters, some of them love letters, the most famous of them between Abelard and Heloise, who lived about 100 years later than the real Rollo and Gisla. More about them [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Abelard%20) and [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%A9lo%C3%AFse_\(abbess\)%20))
> 
> Sigyn in Norse mythology was the wife of Loki, the god of mischief. He had played one too many trick and was chained in a cave with a serpent over his head dripping venom on him. Sigyn, his loyal wife, stays with him to catch the venom so it will not harm him; she stays until Ragnorak, the end of the world. More of the story is recounted [here](http://norse-mythology.org/sigyn/) and [here.](http://www.viking-mythology.com/asynjur.php)  
> 


	11. The Princess and the Bear and the Plot Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which Rollo is the target of an attack.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Notes: An extra word of thanks to Swimmingfox for inspiring the Gisla of this chapter and for her beta-reading and editing. And double thanks to Windchimed for her editing suggestions and keen eye. And thanks to HeyYouWithTheFace and to my son for help with the fight scene.
> 
> To my readers: I’m sorry this didn’t come as soon as I’d hoped; I got busy during the week and then got sick, so this is the soonest I could manage it. I didn’t mean to leave you hanging this long! 
> 
> Comments are always much appreciated and continue to inspire me.  
>   
> 

Note: This chapter continues just where the last chapter left off.

~~

 

Rollo found his own weapon in time and whirled on the man behind him. He dodged the man’s sword, glinting in the moonlight, and thrust his foot at the attacker’s knee, crippling him so that the man sank to his knees. Rollo whipped around him and stabbed him in the neck. The man crumpled to the ground, the metallic smell of death surrounding him as his blood spilled out.

Rollo spun to face the second man and felt steel meet his arm. It sliced, but glanced away. Rollo, scarcely noticing the pain in his rage, struck out at the man’s hand and knocked the sword away, losing his knife in the collision. The man pulled back, and Rollo followed. He charged and rammed the attacker with his entire body, causing the man to stagger back and fall to the ground. As Rollo retrieved the sword, the man scrambled to his feet and ran. Rollo started to pursue him, but realized that the man was heading for the gate into the city and that there could be others waiting. 

Looking around for other attackers and seeing none, Rollo headed to the palace. He ran back through the gardens, watching as he went, but still saw no one. When he entered the palace, he looked at the guards there with distrust. But aside from eyeing him curiously, they took no action. Who could have done this? A grim suspicion ran through him.

He would have ordered the guards to search for the other attacker, but lacking the words – and not knowing which of them might be in league with the would-be assassins – he hurried to his men’s quarters. 

Rollo rushed into Halvar’s room and roused him. “Gather some men. Go out into the garden and find the body of the guard who just tried to kill me. Be careful – there may be others.” He turned to go.

Halvar was instantly alert. “But where are you going? You mustn’t go alone – take some men.”

“Send them after me. I must find Sinric and get to Gisla.” He left Halvar and whirled to go to Sinric’s quarters.

Barging into Sinric’s room, he barked, “Sinric, wake up, I need you right away!”

The little man stirred groggily and fumbled for his dressing gown, crying, “What is it? What is wrong?”

Rollo didn’t answer, but drew the man out of the room. He stormed down the hall, Sinric in tow, pushed past the guards, who quickly got out of his way, and burst through the door to his and Gisla’s chambers. He slammed the door behind Sinric and turned to find Gisla. He could see in the dim light that she had sat up in bed and looked terrified. _As she should_.

 

~~

 

Gisla was startled awake by the door bursting open and slamming shut. She sat up in fright and looked to see who it was. Before she could collect her wits, Rollo was at the bedside, grasping her by the shoulders and dragging her out of bed, all the while yelling at her in his language. 

“What is it? What is the matter?” Gisla struggled to pull out of his grasp, but he just tightened his hold on her shoulders, pressed her against the wall by the bed, and spewed forth more curses at her. Across the room, she heard Sinric calling out to Rollo, but could not understand what he was saying.

Rollo shook her until her teeth chattered, speaking in venomous tones. She tried again to pull away, but his iron grip held her so firmly that she was nearly in tears. “Let go of me! You’re hurting me!”

Sinric’s voice grew more insistent and finally Rollo’s grip relaxed slightly and he talked a little more calmly, still in Norse. Gisla glanced over to Sinric.

Sinric said to her nervously, “He was attacked in the garden. Two of your guards tried to kill him. He says he has been patient and gentle with you and this is how you repay him.”

Gisla gaped at him, trying to comprehend, and turned back to Rollo, who shook her again. She cried out, “And he thinks _I_ ordered it? I didn’t! Why would he accuse me of this?”

Sinric translated, and Rollo spouted something emphatically back to him. “You hate me – you have made that very clear – you have looked at me with daggers in your eyes again and again. Will you deny that you have thought of it?”

Gisla grew very still. She turned to Sinric and, trying to stop the panic in her voice, said as forcefully as she could, “Tell him I will not speak to him when he treats me like this. Tell him to let go of me.”

Sinric spoke quietly, but firmly, to Rollo, and Rollo looked Gisla in the eyes and suddenly released her, stepping back several paces, though he still blocked her way to the door. There was blood seeping from his arm, soaking through his sleeve, though he did not seem to notice.

She moved a little away from the wall, rubbing her shoulders to ease the pain there, glancing at him warily. She drew herself up and worked hard to control her voice as she spoke. “ _Of course_ I thought of it – I thought of nothing else from the moment I first saw you! You were our enemy. You killed our men. Your men raped our women. But I did not order you killed. It would only bring more war and suffering to the people. And my father would just marry me to another of your men.” 

Rollo’s scorn showed on his face as he listened to Sinric’s translation. “Why should I believe you?”

“Why shouldn’t you? I haven’t lied to you before! What would I gain from this now? I have already given you my virtue – and I have not refused you whenever—” She glanced in angry embarrassment to the bed and then to Sinric, who looked a little uncomfortable, but continued to translate. 

Rollo grew even more disdainful, “And you have hated it every time. No matter what I do.”

Gisla flushed, but looked up at him somberly. “I cannot help that,” she said quietly, “but every day I pray that God will grant me acceptance in my heart. I made a holy vow before God to be your wife. I _did_ not – and _would_ not – try to kill you. It would be as sinful as killing myself.” 

He locked eyes with her and they stood staring at each other for a few moments. Finally, he released a breath and seemed to relax. “Well, who then? Who hates me more than you?”

The answer dawned on her instantly. “Odo.”

Rollo’s face changed yet again when he heard this. “Ah, yes, Odo. So this is what you were plotting with him.”

Gisla was affronted. “ _He_ plotted; _I_ refused.”

“But you _knew_. And said nothing.”

She looked from Rollo to Sinric, realizing that she would finally have to tell them what Odo had wanted her to do. “He did not plot to kill you, though he said he thought of it. He had another plan. He wanted me to go away with him. To marry him and go to my uncles – my father’s brothers in the east. He said that we could convince them to help him overthrow my father and defeat you, and then Odo would rule Paris as _they_ wished.”

Rollo looked surprised, then grew thoughtful. “With you at his side. So that is what he was saying to you. But you didn’t go with him.” 

“No. I could not betray my father, however angry I was that he was giving me to you. And I couldn’t leave my people to face more war and violence. And I didn’t want to marry Odo. That is why he was angry that night.”

“You had the chance to get away, and you didn’t take it.” Rollo shook his head in disbelief and wonder.

She touched her cross, under her chemise. “I took a holy vow. I would not break it.” 

“Why did you not tell me about this plot?”

“For the same reason I did not tell anyone else. Because my father would not believe it was true and forbade me to speak of it.”

Rollo was quiet for a time. Then he said solemnly, “Swear it. Swear that this is all true. On the cross that you wear.”

Gisla was taken aback that he should demand this. “No one has ever doubted my word.” She stared at him for a moment, then petulantly pulled the cross out of the bodice of her chemise and held it tightly between her fingers. “I swear, on this cross that my mother gave me on her death bed, that I did not – and will not ever – try to kill you. I will be your loyal and faithful wife, as I have already vowed. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. And on my mother’s soul.” She lifted the cross to her lips and kissed it reverently, then looked back at Rollo. 

He was staring at her in indecision. Then he nodded. He turned to Sinric and told him something. 

Sinric said, “He says he will go now and find out who the guards were. That—”

“Wait.” Gisla stopped him impatiently and looked back at Rollo. “ _You_ will swear too. You will swear that you will not accuse me of such things or ever hurt me again.”

Sinric relayed this to Rollo, who at first seemed irritated, but then seemed to realize something and agreed. He pulled the cross from his tunic and began to speak, when she interrupted. “No. On the _wolf_. You must swear on the wolf that you wear – and to your – _Odin_.”

Rollo looked surprised, but nodded his agreement. He pulled out the wolf pendant, grasped it firmly between his fingers, and swore, “I will not accuse you and I will try always to trust you, and I swear I will never hurt you again. I swear it by the name of Odin, the Allfather.” He did not kiss the pendant, but squeezed it again firmly with his thumb and nodded at her. 

Gisla nodded back and relaxed slightly. “Good. Now, I must dress and speak to my guards. We will find out who it was who attacked you and be sure that there are no others.”

 

~~

 

Rollo was confused by Gisla’s sudden movement to action. She pushed past him, grabbed up her robe from the foot of the bed and pulled it on, and headed for the door.

“Wait, what is she doing? It is not safe – any of them could be traitors.” 

Sinric called to her quickly, and she turned and spoke to him. “Of course it is safe. These are my own personal guards. They have served me since I was a child. They would never harm me. And I will make certain now that they will never harm you.”

She flung the door open and called for two of the men to come in. Rollo noted that two of his own men stood guard alongside the palace men. He nodded to them, and they waited, alert.

She spoke quickly to the two palace guardsmen, and Sinric translated. “Aega, Marcoul, forgive my disheveled state. But something terrible has happened and I need your help tonight. My husband, Lord Rollo, has been attacked – by others in the _guard_. Your loyalty to me is without question, so I know you will not hesitate to swear loyalty to my husband as well.” 

The men immediately nodded abruptly and turned to Rollo. Each man pressed his right arm across his chest and rested his fist against his left breastplate. Looking down in unison, they swore their oath. Gisla nodded and thanked them, then spoke earnestly to them.

“Now, Aega, you will go to inform the king’s guard of what has happened. Tell the lieutenant that I will be asking Sir Roland to assemble the guard so the king – or I – can speak to them. Take another man you trust; be careful. Tell no one else until you see me or Sir Roland again.”

The man nodded, turned abruptly, and left. Gisla turned to the other man. “Marcoul, you will go to Sir Roland and tell him of what has passed tonight. Tell him that I wish for the guard to be assembled so my father or I may speak to them.” She repeated the instructions she’d given the other man and Marcoul sped away.

Rollo could scarcely keep up with Gisla’s pace. She closed the door and darted to the back door and called her ladies. She was already rummaging in her wardrobe for a gown when the ladies came in, slightly disheveled, but ready to serve. 

“I need to dress quickly. Ermengarde, call Fara to come and bind my husband’s wound.” She turned to Rollo. “Do not change your tunic for I want the guard to see what was done to you. Just have your arm bound so it will not bleed further.” She waited for Sinric to nod his understanding, then turned to the women again.

“Rosamund, I need the gown and coat that I wore that day when I took the Oriflamme to the wall. Herleva, plait my hair the way it was that day as well. Quickly, please.”

Sinric was translating all of this in clipped sentences, trying to keep up. Before Rollo could ask more about it, a servant came in with Ermengarde and led them away to bind up his wound.

*

A few minutes later, Rollo and Sinric returned to the chamber to find Gisla fully dressed and her hair, uncovered, looking just as Rollo remembered her on the wall. He wondered about this choice of dress. Was she going to call the men down upon him by having them recall his part on the wall? But no, she’d made her men swear allegiance to him, so that could not be.

She looked him over, noted his bloody sleeve, and nodded. “Good, you are ready. Let us go.”

“Go where?”

“To the great hall. Where the men will be assembled.”

The group walked briskly, with more of Gisla’s guard and Rollo’s own men walking beside them, leaving a few men to guard their chambers along with the curious women. Throughout the halls, other guards were looking at them from their posts, putting Rollo on edge. Some of them were heading the same way as they were; some stayed at their posts and nodded or bowed slightly to Gisla as she passed. She glanced their way but continued on her determined mission.

When they arrived in the great hall a multitude of men were already assembled. Rollo looked at them warily. He had seen them all and trusted them to train with him, but now wondered which of them could be Odo’s men. Gisla gave them only a passing glance and strode purposefully to the dais. 

Near the edge of the platform lay a man in a guard’s uniform. As Rollo approached, he could see that it was the man he had killed. Now, in the light, he recognized the man as one his men had trained with. 

Roland was already waiting there for them. He bent to say something to Gisla as she ascended the dais; she grimaced and nodded to him before he returned his attention to the waiting men. Gisla beckoned for Rollo and Sinric to join her on the platform. Rollo’s men gathered to the side, creating a small column near him. 

He whispered to Sinric, “Where is the king?”

“I don’t know. But it seems that the princess will address the men without him.”

Rollo turned back to see that Gisla had taken a place between him and Roland, and was now facing the assembled men. She held herself as straight and proud as he remembered her on the wall, and he realized now why she had chosen her dress so carefully. He now turned to face the mass of men himself and looked out at them sternly. He knew not exactly what Gisla would say, but he would be sure that his manner supported her.

 

~~

 

Gisla stood on the dais, glanced from Roland to Rollo, who wore a fierce look on his face, and surveyed the guardsmen carefully before beginning her speech. She waited for a few others to join the assembled men, then drew herself up and began.

“Soldiers of Paris; Palace Guard, how grand you look as you stand there so nobly assembled. You do me honor. I call you from your rest because a shocking thing has happened tonight. Someone has attacked my husband, Rollo, Lord of Rouen.” She turned and indicated his injured arm with her hand. "He has been injured, but as you can see, he prevailed. One of his attackers lies before you.” She waved her hand again over the body of the guard. “Another has escaped. These were men who my husband trusted – men who wore the same palace guard uniforms that you do. Such treachery among our guard!” She paused to let this sink in with the men. 

“I know it was not so very long ago that I stood with you on the wall of the city urging you to kill this very man and his men as they attacked Paris. But he – they – are no longer our enemies. My father – _our_ emperor – arranged the treaty that brought about an alliance with him and all his men. He and I were married before God to seal that treaty. An attack on my husband or his men is the _same_ as an attack on me or on my father, the emperor. I know that you would not allow such a thing.” She looked about, seeing agreement in the eyes of many of the men.

“So who has done this? I must relate a terrible truth to you that I was not permitted to share before. It will shock you, but I assure you of its truth. Even now the king is in talks with his advisors about what best to do about this attack.” She allowed her voice to sound ominous. “Which most assuredly comes from supporters of Count Odo.” There was a murmuring among the men, and she lowered her voice to sound regretful. “Yes, Odo, the defender of Paris. I, too, was shocked when I learned of his duplicity. It seems that he wished to rule Paris in place of our emperor. This shows us that just as an enemy can become an ally, an ally can become an enemy. He no doubt arranged this assassination plot in order to create more war, more chaos here in Paris. We must find his supporters and stop them from continuing in this plot that can only bring more grief to the city.” 

She surveyed the men again to ascertain that they were following her. She saw slight nods of heads, concerned eyes trained on her.

“Most of you have trained side by side with my husband’s men. You know them. You know that the alliance binds us. Now I ask you to give the same vow to my husband, to this alliance, which our emperor created, that you gave to the emperor himself. A vow to the safety of Paris and of all Frankia. Will you swear it now before me, in honor of your emperor?” Her voice had risen as she said these last words, and her hands rose in a plea for the men’s support, just as she had done on the wall. 

A roar of support rang out from the men. They raised their spears in symbolic defense of the city. Gisla nodded and smiled at them. She turned to Roland and nodded for him to begin. Roland led the formal vow of loyalty, and the men recited it after him, their spears held firmly across their hearts.

Gisla glanced at Rollo, who stood stoically before the men, his face still set in the intense stare he had fixed upon them. But she could see his jaw quiver slightly; he seemed amazed. She turned back to the men. “Soldiers of Paris, you honor us! Together we will defend Paris from all attackers. I salute you! Long live Paris! Long live Frankia!” She raised her right hand high above her head as she made this cry. 

The men cheered and repeated her salute, and she felt a warm sense of pride running through her. These were her loyal guard; they would not fail her. They stood back in formation and at attention, awaiting further instructions. Roland stepped forward slightly, spoke further with the men, and dismissed them to their duties or their quarters.

As the men dispersed, Roland turned to her and spoke with appreciation in his eyes. “Your Highness, you were magnificent; you were born for this. You should have been….” He paused, suddenly embarrassed.

“ _A man_ , you were going to say.”

He looked sheepish, “Forgive me–” 

“It is all right. My father has said it often enough. I do what I can as a woman. I am only sorry that this will mean that your journey to see your family will be postponed.”

“It cannot be helped. My duty is here. I will speak to the king in the morning.” 

“Thank you, Sir Roland.”

Rollo spoke up, “Where _is_ the king? Why is he not here speaking to his men?”

Roland looked uncomfortable and glanced at Gisla before answering. “He is in his rooms, with his political advisors. It was decided that as this attack on you might also be an attack on him, he was safer there with his trusted guards.”

Rollo listened carefully as Sinric translated, his face changing as understanding came. His voice dripped with scorn as he replied, “So he cowers in his rooms and lets his _daughter_ do what _he_ should? What sort of king is that?”

Roland shifted uneasily and looked to Gisla. She gave him a slight grimace and turned to Rollo.

She spoke quietly, but firmly. “The sort who marries his daughter to an enemy to save his kingdom. And who will do what is necessary to preserve that alliance. His most trusted man is guiding the search for the attacker.” She glanced at Roland. “There is no one in all of Frankia that I would trust more than Sir Roland to protect us.” She stared into Rollo’s eyes, watching as he seemed to measure her words and come to believe them.

Roland spoke in a low voice, at first to her, and then to Rollo. “Thank you, Your Highness. My lord, I assure you we are doing everything we can to find the other man – or men – involved. Already we know who it must be; one man, brought here by Odo, did not report when called tonight. And we will be questioning others who came under Odo’s tenure.”

Gisla studied her husband’s face. He seemed to be assessing whether or not Roland could be trusted. At last he nodded. “Good. I thank you. I realize that you and your men will know best who can be trusted and who cannot. I will send to the village for more of my men. That will free yours to find the traitor and to protect the king, and princess.”

“That is wise. Your men are welcome, of course.”

“And it might be wise for you to keep your best men around you. You could become a target too.”

Roland gave Sinric a surprised look as he finished conveying this, but Gisla chimed in. “He is right, you are too important to lose.”

“You are both right, of course. I will take your advice. And now, I must not keep you lingering here. You must wish to rest.” Roland dipped his head to each of them in turn.

Gisla shook her head. “I do not know how I could rest tonight after all of this.”

Roland had a ready answer. “As any soldier rests; he snatches sleep when he can because he knows he is needed for duty later. You will be needed in the morning.” Gisla saw Rollo nodding after this was translated.

Gisla smiled and dipped her head in deference to the wisdom of her old friend. “As you say.”

Roland turned back to Rollo. “I will send someone to see to your wound. You can be assured that you may rest easy tonight. My most trusted guards will be on watch.”

Sinric translated quickly.

“As will my own. Thank you.” Rollo gave a nod to Roland.

Gisla sighed with satisfaction. It was good to see these two men in agreement and working together. 

*

A little later, Gisla and Rollo were returning to their chambers. They took Sinric to his quarters along the way, leaving a guard with him, as Rollo was concerned for his safety. An attack on Sinric would endanger the treaty as well.

Before leaving, Gisla turned to Sinric to thank him for his invaluable service that night. “Now you must take a long rest, for I know you were taken from your sleep tonight.”

Rollo looked sheepish as Sinric explained this to him, but then added his own thanks to the man. Gisla started to turn away to go to their rooms, but Rollo caught her attention. 

“I want – to – say this right – before Sinric go.” 

Sinric nodded, and Gisla looked at Rollo with curiosity.

Rollo looked directly at her as he spoke, his eyes serious. “What you said – it was strong. I was proud when you spoke for me and my men. I saw this in you….” He took her hand, the one with his ring, and touched the garnet on it. “The fire in you. I do not think you should have been a man; I think you are a great woman – and will be even greater.”

Gisla was dumbfounded. It was rare enough that Sir Roland should give her praise such as he did tonight; they were friends from long ago and he’d respected her all these years. But Rollo? This brutish husband? She raised her chin in a little show of pride, then dipped her head to him slightly. “Thank you. Thank you, husband.” 

She turned to thank Sinric again, and they walked down the hall to their apartments. 

 

~~

 

Once inside, Gisla started to call for her ladies, but Rollo stopped her. “Ladies sleep. I – help – you.” She looked at him with some embarrassment in her eyes, but then nodded.

She began to remove the heavy coat, struggling with the hooks. Rollo drew her over to the chair and sat before her, working the long set of hooks to help her remove it. When he’d finished, he rose and gently helped her off with it, sliding it down her arms, and draped it over the end of the bed. When she looked as if she might move to hang it up, he shook his head. “Morning.” She grimaced, and he smiled at her, chuckling lightly. 

Her gown laced down the back. He smiled to himself as he stepped back to her and turned her away from him to unlace it. He would enjoy this. There was something tantalizing about unlacing a woman; like opening a bundle with something delicious inside. 

But as he finished loosening the laces and gently pulled the dress off her shoulders, her chemise pulled away at one side and he saw ugly purple marks there. He knew instantly that he had made them and was contrite. What had come over him? Such rage. He smoothed his hand over her shoulder and said, his voice low, “I – sorry.”

She dipped her head to that side, but did not answer, so he tenderly turned her around to face him, kissed her shoulder, and said again, “Gisla, I sorry I hurt you. I – not hurt you...” He fumbled for the words since he forgot to ask Sinric how to say “never” or “forever” but he recalled a way that he could say it. “...tomorrow, or tomorrow, or tomorrow.”

She looked up at him, her eyes serious. She nodded slightly, then said, “You have already ________ this. But it is good to _____ again.”

He smiled at her and finished removing her dress. He helped her step out of it and carefully laid it with the coat. Now she stood in her pure white chemise, looking so beautiful that he could scarcely keep his promise to be gentle. He moved back toward her, kissed the bare shoulder again and moved his way up her neck. She did not resist, but whispered, “Please.”

There was something urgent in her voice, so he pulled away to look at her. She looked uncomfortable, as if she wished she did not have to say what she clearly wanted to say. 

“Please. Can we wait? Can _bed_ wait? For a ___ days?”

He did not understand. He was being gentle. And he wanted to make it up to her that he’d been so brutal with her earlier. But he would try to please her. “Yes – why?”

She was hesitant and her faced flushed as she spoke. “I am _______.” 

He shook his head. “What – that mean? Sorry.”

She laid her hand gently on his wounded – and now carefully bound – arm. “______.”

“Ah, _hurt_. Yes. Sorry.” He smoothed his hand again over her still bare shoulder. 

“No, not _____ that.” She looked even more embarrassed, but dropped her eyes down to the place below her waist, placing her hand there briefly then quickly moving it away again, her eyes darting away from his. 

He suddenly understood. He had made her sore. How stupid of him not to have thought of this. Even Siggy with all of her experience sometimes got sore from their rigorous lovemaking. 

“Ah, Gisla, why you not – tell?” He wished he had more words to soothe her, to make her understand that he didn’t want this.

She shook her head hesitantly. “It was my duty.”

He let out an impatient breath. She looked startled, and he curbed his initial reaction; he had to try to make her understand. “No. I not want – _duty_. I want –” He struggled for words. “I want – _you_ want.” Did that make sense?

Gisla nodded slowly. Perhaps she had understood.

“You tell – if hurt, hmm?”

“Yes. I will tell you.” She smiled a little half smile and seemed to relax. 

“Come. Bed. Sleep.” He took her by the hand and led her to the bed. He helped her in and got in beside her, starting to settle into his usual position, but she shook her head and lay on her back instead, touching her shoulder. Of course, it would hurt for her to lie on her side. As it would for him to lie on his injured arm. Fortunately, he could lie on his uninjured one, and so he turned on that side and rested his injured arm across her. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and settled in to sleep. Oddly enough, despite the events of the night, he felt at peace; his wife had spoken for him; he could rest assured that she would do so again. 

It seemed that she was his Sigyn, the loyal protector-wife, after all.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Historical note:
> 
> Sigyn in Norse mythology was the wife of Loki, the god of mischief. He had played one trick too many and was chained in a cave with a serpent over his head dripping venom on him. Sigyn, his loyal wife, stayed with him to catch the venom so it would not harm him; she stayed until Ragnorak, the end of the world. More [here](http://norse-mythology.org/sigyn/) and [here. ](http://www.viking-mythology.com/asynjur.php)


	12. The Princess and the Bear and the Plot Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which the assassin is hunted and a visit is planned  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Notes: Many thanks once again to editor and beta-reader Swimmingfox, and to proof-reader Windchimed for their help during the busy holiday season.  
>   
> 

~~

 

_Gisla was on the wall again, and the fighting was fierce. She shouted encouragement to her men and watched helplessly as the invaders swarmed up the ladders anyway. And now one invader was coming up on his own, his axe in his hand, fighting off attackers as if they were nothing but flies. She thought he would look at her, but he did not; instead, he continued to climb, fighting attackers. And none struck him until he reached the top. And then her men, instead of attacking him, welcomed him and he walked among them, as if training them._

_But then, indeed, he was training them. They were in the training yard suddenly, and she was watching, still from above. He and the others whirled and mock-fought, practicing moves. Sometimes with their tunics, sometimes not._

_And then, of a sudden, one of the men he was practicing with turned on him, striking him in the back, seeming to knock him down. But Rollo was not down, he rose again and strode towards his assailant, cutting him down instead. She recognized the face of the dead man as the one they’d found after the attack. Now Rollo came towards her, axe in hand, raging at her, swinging his axe as she tried to back away. She found herself up against a wall and she raised her arms across her face and neck to ward off his blows._

_And now it wasn’t Rollo attacking her – it was Ragnar’s fierce face that she saw between her arms, his hand squeezing tightly around her throat. She couldn’t breathe. She gasped, felt the heaviness on her chest – this must be what it was like to die. She struggled, but he had an iron grip and she could not move. He must release her!_

_But he did not; he twisted her around and she expected a knife to come to her throat, but instead his arm was still across her, choking her. She fought for breath, struggled again and cried out, and at last he seemed to release her_. 

Gisla wriggled free of her captor and looked around in confusion. She wasn’t in the great cathedral or on the bridge; she was in bed. And it wasn’t Ragnar who had released her; it was Rollo. He was crouching over her, and she cried out again in fright. Would he kill her this time?

But when she looked more closely, there was no menace on his face, only concern. He surveyed the room, then relaxed and sat back on his heels. “Gisla, you – are hurt?”

She finally realized that it was all just a nightmare, breathed a sigh of relief, and shook her head. “No. I am not hurt.”

He looked her over, glanced again around the room to be sure that no one was there, and then straightened himself out and sat beside her on the bed. 

She was breathing heavily, trying to compose herself.

He spoke again. “Bad – thought? Umm, _night_ thought?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, bad _dream_.”

“Ah, dream, yes.” He reached out to her to stroke her arm, and she had to steel herself not to flinch when he did so. “What – dream? Umm, no, what – you – dream?”

She tried to think of how to explain that he would understand. Finally she just said, “Attack. I was attacked.”

He nodded with understanding, then seemed to get a sudden inspiration. “Who attack? Guards?”

“Yes. No. It’s hard to explain.” She wasn’t sure she even wanted to tell him that she’d dreamed of him attacking her. 

“I get Sinric.” He started to get off the bed. 

“No – no, let him rest. Please. He can explain in the morning.” 

He paused, looked back at her, and seemed to assess her. At last he lay back on the bed, pulling the covers over them again. 

He grunted a little as he settled his wounded arm and she wondered if she had made it worse, for she must have pushed it away in her panic. “Did I hurt your arm?”

“No. It hurt – same. Good night.” He lay this time on his back and moved his good hand around until he found hers, took it in his, and squeezed it. And so they fell asleep again. Or perhaps he did. She only dozed, trying not to dream.

 

~~

 

Rollo slept only lightly, aware that Gisla did not seem to really sleep either. When he heard the church bells some time later, he turned to Gisla and whispered, “You – sleep?”

She stirred and shook her head. “No. Only a little.” 

He knew she would want to see her father and no doubt intended to try to see him before prayer. “We go – speak to king?”

Gisla nodded. “Yes.”

A little later they had arrived at her father’s chambers, accompanied by both of their guards, Sir Roland, and Sinric. Inside the king was seated on a richly gilded chair and was surrounded by his ministers dressed in finely woven clothes. He seemed as unconcerned as when Rollo had first met him. He did not even look at his daughter, but spoke only to him. “Rollo, I am glad to see that you are not badly wounded.”

Rollo looked to Sinric for translation and nodded. “Is there any word on the escaped man?” 

“Oh, he will be found, of course. Sir Roland will see to that.” Nothing that Rollo didn’t already know. He wondered again how this weak man had managed to hold together a kingdom for all this time. 

“Do we know who was behind it?” He glanced about at the advisors who’d been conversing with the king when they entered. 

The king looked embarrassed for a moment, then put on that unconcerned look that Rollo had begun to grow used to seeing. “Oh, I know some are saying it must be Count Odo, but I cannot believe this. It is surely someone else making it look so.” His eyes wandered away to the candles and then to his lap. 

Rollo was astounded. Who else could it be? He glanced at Gisla, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. He could see that she was seething. “If it was someone else, who would that be? I have not been informed of another enemy that we should be preparing for.”

The king cleared his throat and sat up a little. “You may leave that concern to my advisors – and to Sir Roland, who will surely get to the bottom of this. Just wait until he has found the culprit.” His tone was dismissive; he implied that they should leave now. 

Just as Rollo was going to reply, Gisla spoke up. “Father, do you not think that some show of our presence is needed now? The people will have heard of the attack and wonder that they do not see us.”

Her father’s eyes widened slightly, but he continued in his usual calm manner. “I do not think it is safe to go out in public just now. My advisors think we should stay in the palace until the conspirators are found.”

“Father, the attack took place _in_ the palace – in its very gardens! How can it be any safer here? And we appear to be cowards when we should show strength.”

“Ah, well, then if you wish, you may go with your guards to the hospital. It should safe enough. Rollo should stay under guard here, since he was attacked.”

Rollo was incensed. “I should stay, but let my wife go where there may be danger? That is unthinkable.”

Sinric translated this, and the king raised his eyebrows in disapproval. 

But Sir Roland spoke quietly now. “Our search for the traitor _has_ raised questions; the people are concerned. Perhaps….” He gave a deferential look to the king. “Perhaps some small show of presence might be wise?” He turned to Rollo. “You and she might go – just to the hospital, where you can be guarded easily. You will make an appearance, people will talk of seeing you both well, and the princess can do her good works at the hospital as usual. It will seem quite normal. Shall I arrange it?” 

Rollo nodded and both men glanced back to the king, who waved his hand in acceptance of this, though looked rather foolish about it. 

Gisla looked at them both with approval, nodded curtly to her father and took her leave. Plans were made to visit the hospital after chapel.

 

~~

 

After prayer, which Rollo attended with Gisla, they made their way to the hospital. Gisla was struck by Rollo’s attentiveness. He seemed not to want to leave her side. And yet _he_ had been the one attacked, not her. But she had no doubt that he kept close to her for her safety, not his own. They were under heavy guard, at the insistence of both Roland and Rollo, so it hardly felt like a normal visit, but they walked to the hospital somewhat as usual.

As they walked, she pondered what Rollo had said last night. That she was a _great woman_. No one had ever said such a thing to her before. Could it be that he only wanted her good opinion and affection? She stole a glance at him. He walked beside her, on guard, as much at war as he had been on the wall, it seemed. But under that fierce exterior, could he really be a good man who would support and admire her? It hardly seemed possible. If it was so, then what a vastly different life she would have with him than with her father, who scarcely tolerated her involvement in state affairs.

Once the guards had searched the hospital carefully and the priest there had assured them that no new patients or unknown visitors had come in the past few days, they could visit untroubled. Gisla went about on her rounds with Rollo by her side and he seemed to be a bit more relaxed there than he’d been at the palace or in the street. 

The children remembered him, of course, and came buzzing around to see if he had sweets for them. And it seemed that he did. She could not help smiling to herself about it. He did seem to genuinely love the children. He played with them before giving out the treats and then made them guess which hand he had them in before doling them out liberally. And when he ran out, he stood there looking forlorn when the children had thanked him quietly and started walking away again. Gisla took pity on him. 

She pulled out a bag of her own and strode over to Rollo. “Here. Give them these. They are better for them, but they are still treats.” She gave him a small smile as she passed the bag to him. Their hands touched and she didn’t pull her hand away. 

“Thank you.” He gave her a broad smile, squeezed her hand, and started to turn to the children before turning back to her. “Wait. Come, you – give to them.” He lifted the bag back towards her hand.

She gently pushed the bag back towards him, “No, no, the children like you. You can do it.”

Rollo smiled again as Sinric finished his explanation. “Come, we both will.” 

Gisla hesitated as Rollo stretched his hand to her, but took it and walked with him back towards where he’d left a circle of children, disappointed, but now playing quietly. He opened the bag and seeing the little raspberry tarts that he’d also enjoyed, he raised his eyebrows and shot her a childlike smile. He held it out to Gisla, so she took one and offered it to one of the children, a little girl. The child smiled shyly as she took it from her. Gisla smiled back at her, then looked back to Rollo and found that he was watching her. She took another tart, and together they distributed all of them to the children. Then they watched as the children started playing their game again.

As they walked away, the priest called Gisla over to talk to her. She excused herself from Rollo and walked away to discuss some hospital supplies with the priest. 

 

~~

 

Rollo nudged Sinric. “Do you think she is warming to me? She was almost friendly – even smiled, though not _at_ me exactly. It was the prettiest thing I have ever seen.” 

Sinric smiled. “Perhaps so. I have seen her watching you with the children before – and smiling. And perhaps I should not reveal this, but I have seen her stealing glances at you today. I think you made a strong impression with what you said to her last night. No one will have spoken to her that way before.”

“No one complimented her? Did not Roland do so?”

“Yes, but you are her husband, her equal. Yes, her equal, despite what she may have thought of you before. To hear such praise from you is powerful.”

Rollo was surprised. He had spoken from the heart. To think that his heart had led him to do just the right thing was encouraging.

 

~~

 

Gisla spent a much larger portion of her days with Rollo now, as he seemed to want to keep her close. He attended prayer with her, visited the hospital with her, and asked her to watch their training, although he trained mainly with only his own men now, as Roland was using all of his trusted men to search for the assassin.

Even after all that had passed, with Gisla’s speech and Roland’s support with the king, Rollo had questioned why he should trust that these Frankish men would not just protect the assassin, who was, after all, one of them. But Gisla insisted that Roland and the other guards could be trusted. 

Rollo was impatient. “Would you not have said that about Odo, too, before all of this began? Didn’t you trust him then?”

She thought a moment, then said, “Not as I trust Roland. Odo always was…troubling to me.”

A dark look came into Rollo’s eyes. “Troubling, how?”

She hesitated, then said, “He kept trying to speak of marriage during the siege. As if I would be more amenable to such an arrangement during the fight than I had been before it.” She paused. “And there were rumors.”

“What rumors?”

She glanced at Sinric, embarrassed. But she had mentioned it now, so she might as well give the details. “It is said that he did strange, violent things with women. That he had a place somewhere in the city where he would chain them and beat them – and – and more.” She looked away uncomfortably. 

Rollo looked surprised. He seemed to ponder this for a moment, then said, “I am doubly glad, then, that he is gone. And that you did not go with him.”

She nodded. “I am glad as well.” And she realized with wonder that she really was glad that she was with Rollo and not Odo. 

Rollo looked as if he was not sure whether to be happy at this or just assume that he was the lesser of two evils. But he smiled and pressed her hand, and then went back to his sparring with renewed vigor.

 

~~

 

Halvar had been back and forth from the village each day since the attack. Upon his return the first afternoon, Rollo had spoken with him.

“How do the people seem? Are they worried about the treaty, about the attack?”

“No, I have assured them that you are well and safe. The other men who go back and forth speak of you in training, so the people have no reason to doubt. But they do ask when they will meet your princess. It might be a good thing to come with her for a visit.”

Rollo nodded, thinking about it. He smiled. “I had been thinking of that too. I would love to show Gisla the village. Have her meet our people. I think, though, that she might not like it. But she will need to get to know them if we are all going to live in Rouen together. I will speak to her of it.”

“Good. And perhaps it will be relaxing for you to be there for a while. You are strung as tightly as a drum.”

“I know. I cannot really rest until they find the other attacker. I keep wondering where he is and who else might be involved. Gisla could be in danger. She is too trusting of the rest of the guard.”

“But she knows most of them well; did she not say that the dead one was someone of Odo’s choosing?”

“Yes. I wish I had not killed him. If I had only wounded him then we could get information from him.”

“Or he could have gotten away and tried again to kill you. Better that he is dead. ‘A cleaved head no longer plots.’”

Rollo chuckled. “True enough. At least I don’t have to worry about him. And at least my own men are with her as well.” Rollo had assigned two of his men to join Gisla’s personal guard when she was not with him. 

They discussed the events from a few nights before, debating about what would happen if he had been killed or if something had happened to her. Would the treaty be kept? 

“Gisla seems to think so. She pointed out that if the plot had been successful and our people had attacked again, she might well have been made to marry another of my men to preserve the treaty. So it would have resolved nothing for her.”

“Why would she think of such a thing?”

“Because I accused her.”

“You thought _she_ had tried to kill you? I know she hated you at first, but surely not that much! So that’s why you left so hurriedly that night – I thought you were worried about her.”

“Well, if I had found her dead in the room, I would have known it was a larger plot. But her guards stood peacefully at the door and we woke her when we came in. Terrified her, I’m sorry to say.” 

“No doubt. And still she spoke with such passion for you.”

“Yes. I never expected her to speak for us that way. She could rule this city herself. Or all of the kingdom.”

“Too bad she is a woman. Well, for her. Not for you.” Halvar raised his eyebrows. 

*

Things seemed better with Gisla; Rollo supposed that since he was not expecting to have sex with her each night that she felt freer. She was cordial with him, perhaps also as apology for the attack, even though he had accepted fully that she had had nothing to do with it. She was no more affectionate than before, but she no longer got that uncomfortable look when he’d suggest bed each night. She would only nod and rise to ready herself.

In bed she seemed more relaxed, at least, she did not seem tense about him. Both of them were tense about the situation with the assassin, and each night Rollo took extra care to be sure that trusted Frankish and Norse guards were posted. 

 

~~

 

On the fifth day after the attack, Gisla was watching Rollo as he was sparring with his men, when Roland came in with a few other men, dragging a man between them. “We have found him,” Roland announced.

Gisla was filled with immense relief as she, Rollo, and his men gathered around to see the culprit. Rollo could not say for certain that it was the man who’d attacked him, for it was dark and the man had had his helmet on. But he said that he remembered him from training and he bore the marks of hits that Rollo recalled making to his body during the attack. The man’s tunic was torn and covered with blood. 

Gisla asked Roland, “What does he have to say?”

“He won’t speak about it at all.”

Rollo glared at the traitor. “Where was he found? Had you not searched all the houses and shops?”

“Yes. He had been moving around, pretending to be only a wanderer. He had on a cloak to cover his uniform and the blood stains. I was surprised that he had not changed his clothes, but it seems he was afraid to arouse suspicion by asking for clothing or stealing any for no theft was reported. He tried to leave the city today and he was recognized by one of the guards at the gate. They asked him for his proof of leave to exit the city and he could not produce one. So they accused him of trying to desert and arrested him. When they brought him here, we pulled off the cloak and found the wounds.”

Gisla stepped forward to look into the man’s face. “You will do well to tell us what we need to know. The more you keep it from us, the harder it will be for you.” 

The man only looked blankly at her, keeping his eyes down. 

“Let me question him – he will talk.” Rollo glowered at him. Sinric translated this, looking rather uncomfortable.

Roland took charge. “He will be questioned, and brought to trial.” He gave a signal and the men holding the traitor dragged him away. Roland continued. “Court will be held–” He looked at Gisla and they tacitly agreed that her father would not preside. “Presumably you will hold court….” He glanced again at Gisla, then to Rollo. “Perhaps both of you?” 

“Yes. Of course. He was attacked and he is my husband; it is his right.” Gisla turned to Rollo. “You will be free to question him and decide his sentence.”

Rollo listened as Sinric translated this. “We will decide his sentence together." 

 

~~

 

The man was brought before Gisla and Rollo in a formal court hearing. His case was heard. But he would not offer any more information than he’d done when questioned before. The only reaction he made was whenever Sinric translated; then the man looked at Rollo as if mocking him for being too ignorant to speak Frankish himself. 

Finally, Gisla said to the man, “Well, then, have you nothing at all to say before you are sentenced? Do you not wish to be allowed to see the priest and be given last rites before you die? Will you not tell us why you would betray the king and try to harm my husband?”

The man gave a smirking smile and finally spoke. “I would have thought you would try to harm him yourself. I suppose you like being fucked by a barbarian after all.”

Rollo saw Gisla’s face grow cold and deadly at this remark. He tensed, waiting to hear Sinric’s translation and upon hearing it, was ready to throttle the man for his insult to Gisla. But Sinric put his hand up, saying, low, “Wait, she is answering him.” 

Gisla’s voice was like poison as she addressed the assassin, who was on his knees. “Clearly you are a fool to have tried to assassinate my husband. But I did not think you would be so great a fool as this. You have not seen the Bear’s wrath when he fights. Since you have nothing useful to say, I will give you over to him now. No doubt as a _barbarian_ he knows some creative ways to make you suffer for your crime – and your insult.” Her tone turned cold and dull. “No one will be praying for your soul.”

She turned and gave Rollo a small, sly smile, then signaled to the guards, who wrangled the culprit over to Rollo’s side of the dais. They forced the man back to his knees and held him in place.

Rollo glanced to Gisla and she gave him a small nod. He would execute the man himself as they had discussed. But they still had gained no information from him. So as he and Gisla had also discussed, he would try his own method of pressure. 

He stepped closer to the man, who knelt there with defiance still in his eyes. He recalled the pain that Earl Haraldson had caused him so long ago and thought of doing some of those things to this man. But he had another plan.

He beckoned to Sinric to come closer and told him to translate so only the prisoner heard it. Rollo kept his own voice calm and low, but with just an undercurrent of menace in it as he began to explain what he proposed to do. “In my country we have a special way of dealing with traitors. It is called a “blood eagle” because we cut the traitor such that his back looks like bloody eagle wings. I have never performed this before, but have often thought that I would not mind doing so to a traitor.” He waited while Sinric translated this, then motioned for the guards to take the man’s shirt from his back. The man seemed surprised and tried to pull free, but the guards positioned him firmly before Rollo again.

“Here is what it looks like.” Rollo took his knife from its sheath and twirled it around in his fingers for a few moments before the man’s eyes, then walked around behind him. 

“First, we take the knife – it should be a very sharp knife – and we draw along the center of the back just so.” He traced a thin line down the man’s back using only the tip of the knife’s hilt. The hilt was pointed and left a light mark, but did not cut. The culprit shrank away in shock, but the guards held him firmly. “Of course, when it is time to carry it out, the knife must go deep.” He jabbed the hilt into the man’s ribs hard enough to make the man gasp, but still, it did not cut. 

Rollo glanced over to Gisla to see her reaction. She was watching solemnly. Then he turned back to the prisoner, leaned down to speak into the man’s ear, making sure his voice was loud enough for Sinric to hear and to translate his words. “Then we press the knife deep into the back and sever the ribs there. It will be very difficult with this knife. But it can be done.” He turned the hilt slightly causing the man to gasp again. 

He spoke more threateningly to the man, though still in a low voice, and with great calm. “And now it is time to begin – I will open your back and pull your ribs and lungs out until your back looks like bloody eagle wings. Shall I?” And he pressed on the knife hilt just slightly. 

The pressure was enough. The man cried out something loudly, and Sinric translated, “Mercy! Mercy, please!” 

Rollo halted. “Mercy? Were you and your men going to have mercy on me? I think not.” He gripped the knife hilt harder, but moved it only enough to make the man squirm and cry out again. 

Sinric translated again, “Mercy, he begs for mercy.”

“What will you give us in exchange for mercy? How do we know this was not a larger plot to kill the king or the princess? Perhaps they are in danger even now. Why should we give mercy when you give us nothing?”

Sinric conveyed this and the man coughed and spoke in quick, staccato words. “There were four. We were to kill you and report back. The other two will have fled to report. I swear it!”

Rollo nodded and kept the hilt point where it was, turning it only ever so slightly as a reminder of what could be. “Report to whom? Who were you working for?”

The man was shaking now, though the knife had still caused no wound. “Odo. Count Odo. He waited to hear that you were dead and that the trouble had begun.”

“Trouble? He expected that my men would turn on the palace guard, no?”

“Yes, yes. He would bring troops to stop them, to save the city.”

“And the king? And the princess?”

“I don’t know! I was only assigned to kill you. And report whether it was a success or failure.”

“You expect me to believe that there was no plot against the king?”

“I was not told of it, I swear!”

“And the other conspirators? You expect us to believe that there were only four? That there are not other traitors among the guard that Odo brought here?” He inched the hilt point a fraction more along the man’s back.

“I swear, I know only of the four I was part of!”

Rollo looked to Sinric, who nodded. “I think he tells the truth.” 

Rollo glanced over at Roland and to Gisla, who had heard all of this in the man’s own words and could see his face. Roland, while looking somewhat skeptical, nodded as well.

Gisla was staring into the face of the prisoner as if deciding. When she spoke, it was still with the cold voice of before. “The priest is here. Take the cross and swear upon it that you are confessing the truth. Then we may accord you mercy.”

Rollo moved the knife away from the man’s back, and the man breathed in relief. The priest stepped forward and gave the man a cross. The culprit was allowed to have his hands free enough to grip it and make his oath. Sinric translated the oath.

Gisla looked to Rollo who nodded to signal that she would announce the verdict, as they’d agreed upon earlier. She looked back to the prisoner. “You have confessed to a crime that is high treason: the attempt on the life of one of the royal family. The sentence for this crime is death. It has been agreed upon that if you were found guilty, Lord Rollo, my husband, the offended party, would be the executioner, as is custom in his country. The decision to accord mercy is his.”

Rollo nodded to her once more, then turned his gaze on the traitor, once more fingering his knife and flashing the blade. After a time in which he appeared to deliberate, he leaned over to whisper gruffly in the man’s ear, “You are not worth the trouble.” He stepped away from the man and called for the block. “Your plea for mercy is granted. You have only to hope that a barbarian can wield an axe well.” 

The man looked at first relieved and then frightened again at Rollo’s words. The guards tied his hands behind his back, and forced him to lay his head down upon the block. Rollo positioned himself between the block and Gisla. While he knew she had seen him kill before and had witnessed executions, he did not wish her to see any more of this act than necessary. Rollo raised the axe, gave a quick prayer to Magni for strength, and struck.

It was a clean blow; the head fell away and a guard caught it. The crowd cheered. 

Rollo’s men had applauded as well, though he was sure that some were disappointed that he’d not carried out the blood eagle. But he had done what he thought best: made it quick and merciful, as it seemed that Gisla had preferred. It appeared that they had gotten the information they had needed from him, though one could never be sure.

Later he thought about how satisfying it had been. Not just the execution, but working together with Gisla to decide the case. And when the man had insulted her, she had not scorned Rollo’s defense of her as she had once done, but had formally given him an official way of getting revenge on the man both for insulting her as well as for attacking him. He realized that this was the sort of relationship he had always desired with Ragnar. A partnership. As he had once had with Ragnar when hunting large game as boys, they would work together to take the animal down. 

Now, together, he and Gisla would do the same in ruling Rouen. 

 

~~  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Historical notes:
> 
> “A cleaved head no longer plots.” Old Nordic proverb. Thanks to HeyYouWithTheFace for the quote.
> 
> Magni – Son of Thor; he was so strong that he was able to lift a dead giant from his father’s neck after a battle. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%B3%C3%B0i_and_Magni).
> 
> Criminal justice in the Middle Ages – I used show canon to set the stage for the trial and execution of the traitor. During the siege, Odo and Gisla presided over the execution of one of the Viking attackers (Earl Siegfried) in a courtyard with a raised platform. They were seated above the prisoner, executioner, and guards. Odo gave the order to decapitate the prisoner and Gisla was more of an official onlooker, perhaps just representing the Crown. Roland and many court spectators were up on the platform and to the side of it. And commoners stood around behind the prisoner and jeered at him. The executioner used an axe. 
> 
> In Kattegat, we have the precedent of Ragnar himself carrying out a formal execution in the case of Jarl Borg (with the blood eagle), and he also killed King Horik in a more battle-related, yet still stylized execution. I wanted Rollo to have the dubious honor of executing his attacker, so I blended the show’s version of the two cultures’ practices. 
> 
> As for what passed for actual criminal “justice” in the Middle Ages, various methods of torture were used to extract confessions and often were part of the punishment leading to execution, depending on the crime committed. It is said that the “breaking wheel” was possibly a Frankish invention dating back to the 600s. But I decided not to depict actual torture, although the show clearly uses plenty of it, and it would be realistic that the Franks would have tortured the prisoner for information before killing him. 
> 
> Rollo – while perfectly capable of carrying out such treatment – in my story did not want to give Gisla any more cause to see him as brutal than she already had, so he only whispered what he would do to the prisoner until the man gave in. I don’t purport that this is any less reprehensible than actual torture, despite how commonly used it is in television shows and films. Gisla had already overseen the executions of captured attackers, so I did not think it would horrify her to watch this prisoner be executed, even if it was by Rollo’s hand. Decapitation was a common form of execution in many countries at that time (as well as before and after, and in other regions of the world). 
> 
> Sadly, cruel and unusual punishment has been all too common throughout human history. There is at least one example of an attempt to condemn or stop the practice of torture: in 866 Pope Nicholas V, wrote to the Bulgarians that torture was against divine as well as human law (the letter is quoted [here](http://www.medieval-life-and-times.info/medieval-torture-and-punishment/)). So for the purposes of my story, perhaps we can suppose that Gisla’s father (and perhaps Gisla) adhered to that premise and did not allow torture in his dungeons. That would be ironic, considering that he is depicted as being unwilling to take much of a stand on anything. I can picture him being more inclined to let his advisors handle that sort of dirty work while he tucked himself away in his library. 
> 
> There is more on actual on medieval torture and punishment at the website above. Warning: descriptions are graphic. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~
> 
>  
> 
> Next, Rollo and Gisla will visit the Viking village.  
>   
> 


	13. The Princess and the Bear in the Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which the Princess and the Bear visit the Viking village  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  An extra "Thokk" to Swimmingfox for her beta-work on this chapter, which has been in the works for many months and finally came to fruition. And thanks too, to Windchimed for her keen-eyed proof-reading on this one. "Skål" ("cheers") to both of you!
> 
> I think this chapter may be the one many of you have been waiting for – I hope you like it! As always, I welcome – and am inspired by – your comments, so don't be shy! "Skål" to you for your previous comments and kudos!  
> 

~~

 

The evening after the execution, Rollo broached the subject of going to the village. He stressed that the people had been asking to meet her. Sinric translated as usual. 

“They want to meet me?” Gisla looked skeptical, and he wondered if she worried that they would judge her or criticize her. 

“Yes. Halvar has told them much about you – and what you have said and done regarding the attack on me. They long to know you.”

“I see. When would we go?”

“As soon as it can be arranged. We will speak to Roland to be sure it will be safe for you to leave the city, but I see no reason why not. Soon enough we will be going to Rouen.”

She looked as if she was pondering this, and he wondered what was making her hesitant. He was about to ask when she said something. Sinric translated. 

“What should I wear?”

That seemed a strange question. Perhaps it was not always about the heavy worries of rule. “What you always wear – your beautiful dresses.”

“I will not wear my best gown.”

Rollo was confused and slightly angry. “What do you mean? That my people are not worthy of your best attire?”

Sinric shook his head at Rollo. “I don’t think she meant that. It was more of a question.” He rattled off something to Gisla and she shook her head and she replied, making a motion with her hands towards her head. Sinric nodded at her and translated again. “Is this a state visit? Must I wear my finest dress and my crown as I did when I was presented to you? If not, I would not like to appear too ostentatious. You have said that they are common people.”

Rollo was relieved. “Ah, I see.” Why was he so quick to think she would be arrogant about his people? But he did worry that she would think them too rough, too pagan. He thought a moment. It would be splendid for the people to see her as he had seen her that day in her shimmering dress and glittering crown. But she was right; they were common people and his purpose in bringing her there was not to show her off as his shining princess, but as a woman of the people, the woman who had spoken for him and them. “No, I think this is not a ‘state visit’ but rather a wedding celebration with those who are like my family.” He thought a moment more. “I think you should wear the blue dress you wore the day after the wedding. You look beautiful in it. But no veil.”

“Thank you – but no veil? I thought you approved of my veil.” Her hand touched the edge of the one she now wore. 

“Yes, in the city. But our women do not cover their hair. You are not making an example for them. Not yet, anyway.”

She stared at him for a few moments, considering. “Very well. As you say.”

They walked a little more and sat on the big bench under their favorite tree. Rollo thought about other things he needed to tell her. 

“Oh, and the people will make small gifts to you. Simple things. Flowers, like your people offer you. Or some fresh fruit, if there is still some to be picked. A brace of birds or a chicken, to be made into our supper. Wine or mead to celebrate the marriage.”

“I see.” She hesitated a moment, and he thought she would find some other objection to this. “What do I say to them? I would like to learn a few words in your language.”

Rollo was delighted. Only a week or two ago she had scorned knowing anything about his culture. “Just ‘Thank you’ will do.”

She pronounced it carefully after him, “ _Thokk_.”

“Excellent!” His heart surged with pride to hear her speak in his language, even if it was only one word. 

He and Sinric taught her a couple of other simple phrases and she practiced until she said them nearly perfectly. Rollo was impressed. He told her that arrangements had been made for them to stay for a few days, as the people would want to feast and celebrate in their honor. They would stay in the house that had been built for Ragnar when he was there, and Gisla would leave her ladies behind, since there were Norse women in the village who could attend her. She seemed surprised that they would stay overnight, but agreed. 

 

~~

 

And so in a couple of days, it was all arranged, and Gisla found herself in a boat crossing the river to visit the village of her husband’s people. She was oddly nervous. Despite having made many journeys around the kingdom and having met and been diplomatic with dignitaries on behalf of her father, she found herself feeling trepidation about this visit. These were the people that she would help to rule alongside her husband. Would the people really accept her? But why should they not? And so what if they did not? She was a princess of the blood; it was _she_ who should be accepting them, not the other way around. She would be gracious with them, just as she was with all of the people who greeted her in the city. 

They arrived at the other side of the river, and she glanced back to the city walls. So this is what the city had looked like from the enemy’s point of view as they attacked. She had not thought this way on other occasions that she had left the city. But now she turned her attention to the shoreline. Many of her guards and Rollo’s men were already out of their boats and waiting to escort them. Rollo leaped out of the boat into the shallow water at the shore and then reached back to help her. She rose and before she could think of how she would avoid getting her skirts wet, he had lifted her out of the boat and carried her to the shore, setting her down carefully on the sand there. Though a little embarrassed, she thanked him and arranged her skirts and smoothed her hair so that she’d look presentable. She had worn only her silver circlet over a braid done as he seemed to like. He smiled at her, nodded appreciatively, and offered her his arm. She took it, and they headed up the bank.

As she looked up, she saw that there were people there already waiting to greet her. A couple were familiar – some of Rollo’s men – but others were new. She swallowed, straightened, and walked as regally as she could. She hoped she made a good impression.

As they approached, the people bowed and nodded to them, some speaking in a familiar manner to Rollo, who answered back in a friendly tone, then introduced her, and they spoke to her as well. Sinric translated what they said and she answered back as well as she could. For the most part they offered greetings and were giving her honor, and after a time she began to recognize the words for “Welcome” and “It is an honor to meet you,” so she could then reply on her own, “Thank you” and “I am pleased to meet you.” 

As they made their way to the center of the village, people offered her flowers and small gifts, just as Rollo had said. She let go of Rollo’s arm to gather the flowers in her arms, and Rollo assigned someone to carry the other gifts that they were given. She began to feel a small measure of comfort from the greetings and gifts. These people were not so different from those in the city. They wished to honor her, and were doing so very warmly. She began to smile back at them.

Finally they arrived at what seemed to be the center of the settlement. There were poles set up with cloth coverings which were decorated with garlands and flowers. She smiled and told Rollo, “It looks very pretty.” He seemed pleased and said something to a group of people who’d gathered before them as if to welcome them into the center.

There seemed to be a special place for them there, a sort of platform, about two steps up, for them to stand on. It too was bedecked with garlands and a few flowers. There were two large chairs placed there, and Rollo directed her to stand before one of them, as he stood before the other. There was a small chair beside her; Sinric stood there. 

Rollo spoke to the people, and Sinric translated quietly beside her. “Thank you, good friends of New Kattegat. It is good to be back among you again. And I introduce to you my wife, Princess Gisla of Paris.”

The people gave a good-natured cheer, and Sinric translated, “Welcome, Princess Gisla!” 

Gisla felt a warmth run through her, and, though Rollo had not told her she must speak, she repeated the words she had learned, and said, “Thank you, it is an – honor – to – meet you.”

She was startled by the roar of the crowd, but saw that they were smiling and applauding; she turned and saw that Rollo was nodding with approval. Good. 

Then Rollo indicated the chairs, and she first took her seat, and then he took his. And the people who hadn’t yet met them came in small groups to the platform to offer their greetings and gifts.

The first gift was brought by two young women who bowed respectfully as they presented it. It looked like a crown, but was made of straw and had flowers and greenery woven through it. What was she to do with it? She looked to Sinric and to Rollo and they both answered at the same time, then laughed, and Rollo let Sinric explain. “It’s the bridal-crown. The bride wears it on her wedding day.” 

Gisla smiled to think that she would wear a crown after all, and it pleased her to think that these people would offer her a crown, even though symbolic, upon her arrival here. She asked the women to arrange it on her head so it would look proper. They did so, loosening her hair so that it flowed freely and placing the bridal-crown over the silver circlet. Then they smiled and nodded at her. The crowd applauded and called out something that Sinric translated as “Good Marriage!” Rollo looked at her and beamed. 

The people then came in greater numbers and continued to offer all sorts of gifts. There were many gifts of fruit and grain, some baked items – one of which Rollo snatched and took a bite of, offering her a bit as well. She took it, a little shyly, but the giver was watching and she smiled in appreciation, though it was rather plain. Choice cuts of meat, many pairs of birds, some ready for cooking and a few live and in cages, and even a goat. She was overwhelmed. Surely these would be offered back to the people for the feast? 

Finally, the crowd waiting to meet her began to thin and only a few people were left. Some of the people were still standing about and watching the proceedings approvingly while others went about their business, presumably to finish the feast preparations. 

An older woman, accompanied by two younger ones, brought forth a bundle of fabric. Gisla was surprised, for this seemed like a more substantial gift. Rollo had not mentioned this possibility. But he only looked on approvingly, so she accepted the gift – or gifts, rather, for they turned out to be three garments. One seemed to be a chemise of fine pale pink linen, the second, a regular gown, also woven in fine linen, and in a rich wine color. As she examined this, Rollo leaned over, pointed to her garnet ring, and whispered, “Like the fire in you.” So it was he who had planned this. Or so she had hoped, for these were rich gifts and the women who offered them did not seem to be wealthy.

She nodded and admired the garments, commenting on their finely woven threads. The women seemed pleased. Gisla then took up the third garment, of a rich, blue wool. It seemed to be an overdress, but had only straps for over the shoulders. She glanced about and noticed that the women before her were wearing such dresses, and realized that this was of the style of their native dress. She looked to Rollo, who smiled and nodded his approval. She turned back to the women and smiled and thanked them. 

Finally, the last gift-giver, a slim but formidable-looking man, came forward. He offered her a soft leather pouch with something inside. She glanced to Rollo, who seemed to wait in anticipation.

Inside were two oval brooches, perfectly matched, shiny silver, each engraved with an animal. At closer look, she was surprised. They seemed to be cats! She looked up in surprise. She had not told anyone of her love of cats. Rollo smiled broadly. But she looked back at the man who offered them. Was it appropriate for her to accept a gift of jewelry from a man not her husband?

She asked Sinric, who quickly translated to Rollo. Then Rollo and the gift giver laughed mightily. Sinric chuckled too and briskly told her that the gift was commissioned by Rollo and that this was the silversmith, Knud, who’d made it for her. Rollo had wanted her to meet him. She glanced back at the man and nodded her pleasure at the lovely pins. He smiled and pointed to her hand, saying something. Sinric told her that this man had made her ring as well, and had said that he was pleased that it seemed to fit her well. She raised her hand so that he could see it better and he nodded with satisfaction. Rollo clapped the man on the shoulder and thanked him. 

Rollo bent over her and pointed to the cats. “They are Freyja’s cats. She is the goddess of love and fertility and beauty. They pull her chariot.”

“They are beautiful, _thokk_ , Knud.” She hoped that it was right for her to use his name this way. Rollo smiled and nodded, so she presumed so.

She was not sure what she would do with such pagan gifts, but Rollo seemed greatly pleased with them, and she did love the cats on them – they reminded her of a beloved cat she’d had as a girl. But what were the brooches for? A cloak perhaps? As if he were reading her thoughts, Rollo leaned over and explained, “You can wear these on your cloak or on the new blue dress.”

Gisla was floored by the generosity of the gifts. It seemed that Rollo had commissioned the garments and the jewelry for her. But now, some women came forward to announce that it was time for the feast.

 

~~

 

Rollo was pleased that the welcome for Gisla had been so warm. And he was proud of her for daring to speak to the crowd in their own language. He had not expected that. But he was not surprised that she had risen to the occasion. And the people had loved her for it. 

Now they walked over to the larger enclosure that had been built and added to since the main group had sailed home. Inside there were many large tables prepared for the feast and people readying the food to be served, just as he had arranged. He led Gisla to the head table where a large cup of ale was brought to them for the bridal toast. If this had been a traditional Norse wedding, it would have been Gisla’s duty to serve it to him, but he simply raised it and waited for the gyðja, or priestess, to say the words of the toast:

“Ale I bring thee, thou oak-of-battle, with strength blended and brightest honor; 'tis mixed with magic and mighty songs, with goodly spells, wish-speeding runes.”

Rollo then drank deeply and passed the cup to Gisla and watched as she drank. The crowd echoed the toast to the bridal couple. 

Rollo and Gisla were then seated for the next part of the ritual. The gyðja brought Rollo a ceremonial hammer, which he took and lay in Gisla’s lap. She looked at him with surprise and confusion, but beside her, Sinric began to explain that it was to bless the marriage and bring her fertility. She glanced at her lap, blushing.

Then the gyðja recited the words of the blessing, “Bring the Hammer the bride to bless: on the maiden's lap lay ye Mjolnir; in Frigga’s name then your wedlock hallow!”

The crowd roared their approval. Rollo smiled at Gisla’s bemused but gracious response to these proceedings. 

Now, the feast began. Trenchers of steaming meat and hunks of bread were brought before them, as well as more mead. 

After they had enjoyed a large amount of food, the festivities began. The first, Rollo explained, was the flytings, something that he greatly enjoyed participating in himself, though as the groom, and therefore honored guest, he would not tonight. 

He explained what the men involved would do. “It is a contest – an exchange of insults. Each will try to outdo the other as the contest goes on.” 

Gisla looked incredulous as Sinric translated this. “They insult each other for sport? Does this not cause hard feelings between them?”

“No, no, on the contrary. They admire each other all the more for being able to spar that way as well as on the field.”

Gisla nodded, but looked unconvinced. But she listened politely as Sinric translated each of a series of insults. She seemed interested, though Rollo could tell that this was all strange and new to her.

“While I was in the east fighting the Rus, you were home braiding your mother’s hair!” 

“While I was with the fleet raiding along the Volga, you were at the mill kissing slave girls!”

Laughter ensued after each insult and Gisla smiled, mildly amused. The insults continued.

“When I reddened my sharp sword in Wessex, you were in the village wavering between a calf or a slave girl!”

Uproarious laughter followed and Rollo noticed that Gisla seemed not too disapproving of this; perhaps she missed the meaning; perhaps that was just as well. 

“When I was hunting the wild boar, you were sorting yarn for your wife’s nalbinding!”

“Well, at least I have a wife and satisfy her, while you must satisfy a tree with your axe!”

“I had many women, and each one said she was vastly satisfied, while you couldn’t even satisfy a pig!”

Gisla’s expression changed when Sinric translated these last two. He gave Rollo a glance and when the next insult was even more obscene, Rollo held his hand up to Sinric to signal him to stop translating. 

Rollo rose and applauded loudly in appreciation. “Thank you, thank you, you were excellent!”

There was a groan of disappointment. “But we were just getting started!”

“Yes, yes, but I’m afraid that the flytings don’t translate very well; my bride cannot enjoy them. And she has particularly requested to hear _The Lay of Thrym_ , which I have recited only in part to her. And Dagfinnr, you are so skilled at reciting this that I would have her hear you do so before the other festivities make us too merry and the evening grows too late.”

He knew that Dagfinnr’s pride would not allow him to pass up this opportunity. The others began to call their approval of this favorite at weddings. While not officially a skald, Dagfinnr had great talent and had become their camp storyteller. He began, and Sinric translated for Gisla. She listened attentively, nodding at times, particularly at the parts she was familiar with. She smiled when Rollo pointed out the part from which the hammer ceremony came, and Rollo was pleased that she seemed to be enjoying hearing the saga in its entirety.

As the storytelling went on, the women who were serving kept returning to refill their mead. Rollo could see that Gisla was not drinking much, but the women kept encouraging her to drink. And then the toasts began. The men would each rise, give a toast to the couple, and all were expected to drink. Gisla clearly did not wish to drink so much, but Rollo could see that she was trying to be accommodating; it was touching. So he watched as she sipped, and the women would come around and refill the cup regularly.

After the saga, there was music and singing. A song about Yggdrasil was begun and Gisla immediately took immense interest in this; she seemed mesmerized by it. Sinric attempted to explain the song, but Gisla shook her head and held her hand up; she preferred to just listen to the song without translation. Rollo enjoyed watching her face as she listened to the music with delight. More mead was brought between songs, and Rollo noted that she seemed to have gotten a taste for it, as she drank more readily than before. He smiled as she swayed with the music. He wondered what she would think of the dancing.

And then it began. A whirling, raucous, stomping dance that Rollo could tell Gisla was surprised to see. But it was still orderly, and the music was lively, and he could see that she was interested, albeit a little overwhelmed. More mead was served, and toasts were made as part of the dances.

 

~~

 

Gisla watched as the dancers moved about in rhythmic patterns. She was slightly dizzy from all the mead, and could not make out the pattern of the dance. She was glad that Rollo had not insisted that they go up and dance. He was talking and laughing with friends who were coming up to their table and congratulating them. 

But now more food and more mead were brought to the table. She did not wish to eat another bite, but the people at their table kept encouraging her to try all the choices, which she assumed were delicacies to them, and she tried to oblige. 

After a time, she found herself growing more and more giddy. The dancers were spinning around her and she began to see them as spinning flowers of color. She looked at all the torches and candles around the enclosure and found that her head lolled back. The music grew louder and louder and the colors and light grew more and more intense. The flickers of color reminded her of cats leaping and pouncing. She smiled as she thought she saw her own cat among the cats out there dancing. She tried to rise, wanting to go to him and dance with him.

Rollo was there, taking her by the arm. She said, “I must go to him” and Rollo laughed, and led her into the dance. She swayed with the music and reached out to the leaping shapes, which now did not seem to be cats, but banners, waving on the parapets around them. She waved her arms around, stretching them out to touch the tips of the banners, but could not catch them. Rollo reached out to her, touching something on her head, the bridal crown! It had nearly fallen off. The people around her were laughing, chanting, and singing. She smiled and laughed too. The world seemed enchanting tonight. 

 

~~

 

Rollo was taken by how relaxed Gisla had become. She was smiling and enjoying the songs and dancing. He was surprised when she rose and attempted to join the dance. He had not intended to make her dance – it was not required of the bride and groom, though they could if they desired. But she had seemed to want to, though he suspected she had had too much mead. He did not want her to make too much of a display of herself; he knew that she would be embarrassed by it later. But he did enjoy seeing her this way – and he knew that the people attending would only love her more for it. As she began waving her arms about, her hands opening and closing as if grasping at the flickers of light themselves, he realized that she must have had some of the mushrooms that were being passed about. When had those been placed on their table? He hoped she hadn’t had too many. But he had to chuckle at how freely she danced, and he enjoyed how beautiful and fluid she appeared.

At last she seemed to be staggering a bit, and he quickly put his arm about her waist and guided her to the edge of the whirling dancers. He held on to her gently, but firmly, and announced to the crowd that it was time for him to take his bride to bed. The people roared their approval, and a final round of toasts went up. He laughed, accepted someone’s mug for a quick drink, and then took his leave, carefully guiding Gisla along with him. He was half carrying her, though he made it look like he was just escorting her until they got outside. There, more people toasted and congratulated them, and he commandeered Gisla through the throngs until they were closer to the big house. When it appeared that they were out of sight of the people, he swiftly lifted the now stumbling Gisla into his arms and carried her the rest of the way.

He took her into the house, thinking to himself that if this had been Kattegat, he would be formally carrying her across the threshold to begin their marriage. Inside, dozens of candles had been lit and a large pile of carefully arranged furs had been made into an inviting bed. He laid her down on the bed and began to undress her, starting with the bridal crown, which he set carefully aside.

He had no notion that she would be willing to do anything more than sleep – in fact, she seemed to be very near to fainting. But as he lifted her up so he could unlace the side of her dress and try to slide it off of her, he saw that her expression was strangely alluring and that she was wriggling out of the dress herself, or at least trying to, and helping him. When he got the dress to her waist, her chemise underneath pulling off her shoulder slightly, she slipped from his grasp and flopped back on the furs – and actually giggled! He was amazed. He worked the dress down her hips, lifting her here and there, and finally got it off. He pulled her shoes off in the process and then slipped off his own boots and outer clothes, leaving only his under drawers. 

As he lifted her to place her more comfortably on the furs, she put her hands up to him, touching his chest. He was surprised, for she’d never voluntarily touched him that way before. But she whispered something to him, and though he didn’t understand, he decided that moment that he had waited long enough – tonight he would lie with her again. She was looking up at him, her eyes seeming to study him, though they were clouded, and he kissed her firmly on the mouth. She sighed and her mouth opened under his; the first time that she had done this without him asking her to. He gasped in pleasure and he explored her mouth, tasting the sweetness of the mead on her lips and tongue and feeling his desire for her deepen. 

He slipped the chemise the rest of the way off her shoulders – she didn’t protest – and drew her down into the furs. There he continued to kiss her, first only on the mouth, not wishing to lose that willingness that she’d shown. But she did not stop – indeed, she kissed him back! He was shocked at her seeming passion. But he returned it and now raked his hands over her body, boldly touching her in all the ways he’d done before, but instead of her cringes and seeming endurance of it, she was now openly enjoying each caress. Her little gasps and sighs were intoxicating. At last he released her mouth and began kissing her neck, and at first she seemed to protest that he had left her – she kissed the side of his face and top of his head as he went lower. But when he reached her breasts, she gasped and whispered something, and wriggled closer to him. Gods, but he was burning for her now.

He kissed her over and over, all down her body, until she was moaning and burying her hands in his hair when she could reach his head. She spoke to him, saying his name, and repeating, “please” over and over. So finally he crept up her body, ready to take her. She responded to his touch, opening her legs to him as he slid his knee between them – she even put her arms around him and clutched him to her, crying out in what sounded like pleasure when he entered her. She sobbed, but he did not think she was in pain, and he thrust into her over and over until she cried out in what could only be ecstasy. His own passion took him over and at last he released inside her, and for the first time, felt the joy of their joining as making them truly one. 

He lay upon her for some moments afterwards, and took more joy in that she did not try to push him away or act as if she wished he would get off of her. Instead she gripped her hands more tightly on his back and continued to embrace him, and he realized that she was enjoying further pleasure. He moved a little more in her and gave her more and more, until finally she sighed deeply and went limp. 

He rose up and looked into her face and was struck by the look of pleasure and contentment on it. He laughed deep in his chest, thinking of how different this was from their wedding night. Or perhaps he should say, their first wedding night. For he would now always think of this as their real wedding night. 

She was clearly ready to sleep, and he with her. So he moved off of her and laid himself beside her. She curled up on her side and he let her; however she wished to sleep, he cared not. She was truly his tonight. He curled himself around her, his arm over her side, kissed her shoulder, and allowed himself to relax. As she settled into sleep, he thought he heard her murmur, “Thokk.” He wondered if she was actually thanking him for making her feel that way, or if she was just absently muttering what she’d been repeating all day. It didn’t matter; he whispered, “You’re welcome” and kissed her again before trying to sleep. 

And he dozed, but did not sleep. He kept waking, feeling the warmth of her body so close and relaxed against him. Never had she slept so comfortably with him. He thought again and again of how lithe and free she had been with him this time. Again and again he laughed to himself with a growing sense of joy and contentment.

At last he could contain himself no more. It had grown late, and it was quiet outside. He supposed that the people had finished their dance and all gone to bed too. But he could not sleep. He rose, pulled a bearskin from the pile, made sure that she was still covered, and slipped from the room into the night air. 

Outside, he laughed to himself again and headed down to the riverbank. He had often gone here to think when he was waiting for something to happen after Ragnar had left. And something _had_ happened. 

Now he looked up and saw that Mani was full tonight, full and white and massive. As he reached the shore he thought of how much his life had changed. How bleak things had seemed during those last few weeks in Kattegat. And now? He could not help but laugh with joy. He stared up at Mani and began to praise the gods – all of them in turn. 

 

~~

 

_Gisla was still dancing – twirling around with the lights and cats and people. And there were banners and flames and the colors were all around her. And then the light had fallen away and he was there, holding her, dancing with her, carrying her, and then laying her down on the bed and joining with her. And he wrapped himself around her and she fit with him perfectly. But then he was not there._

Gisla turned – she was missing something. She blinked in the candlelight, trying to decide where she was. And then she remembered, and rolled over to see him. But he was not there. 

“Rollo?”

He was not in the bed or in the room. 

She rose, looking about for her clothes or robe. She found her chemise and slipped it over her head, pulling on the strings vacantly as she wandered towards the door. She scarcely remembered coming here. But she had to find him.

Outside, she looked about, but saw no one. She walked out a little further and was surprised at how much light there was. Torches – and a full moon – lit the village. 

But then someone loomed behind her. She turned, but not in fear. It would be him. 

But it wasn’t. She blinked a little, for the light was still dancing in her eyes. She knew him. A man with flames in his hair. And he pointed down a little path. She turned without thinking and wandered down the path. She felt that he followed her, but she did not turn back to look.

The path seemed to go on and on. But at last she stopped. She saw something amazing. A flash of pale light was whirling in the moonlight. No, it was a man. Her eyes focused, and she saw that it was Rollo. He was looking up at the sky and laughing and turning round and round, looking up at the sky and calling out something. She looked up to see what he was staring at and saw only the huge white moon, vast and wide.

He called out something else, and she dropped her eyes back to him. He had stopped and was looking at her. He was smiling broadly, but now his smile faded. Was she wrong to come? But he was standing there, stark naked, in the moonlight. She just stood there and stared. She had not looked upon his naked body before; it was beautiful. He suddenly grinned at her and started towards her.

 

~~

 

Rollo had finished his mad dance and was filled with an indescribable joy. He completed his last turn and then stood staring at the river and up at the beautiful moon. He felt a presence suddenly and turned, expecting trouble. Instead, he saw Gisla, draped in her pure white chemise, her hair streaming over her shoulders, long and loose, glinting in the moonlight. She looked as beautiful as the moon itself. Had she seen him dancing so wildly? If so, she was not saying anything. Was she still somewhat mad with mushrooms? Or had that madness passed? She stood so still that he thought perhaps he was imagining her. But then he saw that she was staring at him, taking in his body. He could not help but smile and go to her.

When he reached her, she looked up at him. Then she stretched her hand out to touch his chest, tracing her fingers over the images on his skin. He smiled at her, and explained Máni, Sól, and Hati and Sköll. She didn’t appear to understand, but ran her fingers down his arms, one after the other, along his other tattoos. He found it enchanting – and arousing. He took her hand and led her to where his bearskin was lying in the grass. He bent to stretch it out and then drew her down upon it. There he made love to her with the same wild abandon he had just expressed to Mani in his mad dance. Gisla responded, touching his back, his arms, his face. She kissed him as hungrily as he did her. And found her pleasure as she had before. Rollo was elated. 

Afterwards, as she slept in his arms, he was filled with immense happiness. He wrapped himself and Gisla in the bearskin and lay there smiling up at Mani, thanking Freyja and Frigg for answering his prayers. He thought suddenly of what the Seer had said: “If you truly knew what the gods have in store for you, you would go down now and dance naked on the beach.” The old man was right after all. 

And Rollo didn't stop laughing until sleep claimed him.

 

~~

 

Historical notes:

Bridal-crown – Norse young women did wear a _krans_ – a type of circlet, and the bridal-crown replaced that on the woman’s wedding day. It was made of straw and had flowers and greenery woven into it and became an heirloom. And it was also customary for the groom to remove it on the wedding night. While there is not proof that this was worn during the Viking Age, it was worn in the Middle Ages in Scandinavia. More information and image of the bridal crown [here.](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/wedding.shtml)

Note: my thanks to reader Marisafoergaard for correcting my spelling of "krans." Please see comments below.

Also, there seems to be mixed evidence about whether Norse women covered their hair in the pagan era, though it’s clear that they did after Christianization. There are carvings that show various hairstyles with the hair in braids or knots, and some appear to have veils ( _hustrulinet_ ) or caps. I chose to go with show canon with the uncovered hair. More information and images [here.](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/hairstyl.shtml#WomensHairstyles)

Traditional Norse dress for Gisla and proof of underwear for Rollo – Women wore multiple styles, but the most famous of them is the _hangerock_ , or apron dress, that was worn over a long-sleeved under dress or shift. And there is apparently evidence that Norse men wore some sort of under shorts, at least for sleeping. For a great article on clothing of the Viking Age, see [here.](http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/daily_living/text/clothing.htm%0A)

Brooches – Brooches such as the ones that Gisla received were worn on Norse women’s clothing; the article above tells more about that (brooches were found in women’s graves with various fibers caught in the clasps). The cat brooches were inspired by a pair that I found on an etsy site last year. I was eyeing them, but waited too long – they are gone! But the seller has many other gorgeous items; the link is in my post [here.](http://zoesongs.tumblr.com/post/137065269947/norse-looking-cat-brooches-found-on-etsy-last)

Norse wedding feast – A Norse wedding feast could have all of the ceremonies and festivities that I used in the story including the toast and the hammer ceremony. I took most of the information from the article on weddings at the link above (see “bridal-crown”). 

Mjolnir – the name of Thor’s hammer. This custom apparently came from the saga, _Lay of Hárbarðr_ which I mentioned in an earlier chapter. It was the story of how Thor’s hammer was stolen by a giant and Thor got it back by posing as a bride and when the hammer was laid in his lap, he took it and killed the giant. Laying the hammer in the lap of the bride was supposed to bless her reproductive organs so she would have many children. The hammer itself symbolized the groom’s virility. 

Flytings – I found links that took me to a google book in which was discussed the story of “Harbard” – the wanderer used in Season 3 – who was supposedly Odin walking the earth. In the actual saga ( _Lay of Hárbarðr_ , from the _Poetic Edda_ ), he had a long series of flytings and I took some of the insults from there. If you would like the very long link, please leave a comment below and I will post it.

Nalbinding – a Norse handcraft with yarn (“needle-binding”); it predates knitting and crochet. It is done with shorter lengths of yarn and a needle. For a video demonstrating how stitches are done, see [here.](http://www.instructables.com/id/Knit-like-a-Viking-with-nalbinding-how-to-do-the/)  
here.

Skald -- a composer and reciter of poems honoring heroes and their deeds.

Viking song – while there is not hard evidence of what songs were like specifically in the Viking Age, there is evidence of instruments that have been found in digs and there were songs sung and music manuscripts written down in the Middle Ages that are thought to be like what the Vikings must have sung. There is a great article on the Viking Answer Lady’s site in which she discusses the various instruments used. There are links to wav files there so you can hear what some of them sounded like. That is [here.](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/music.shtml) It is especially fun to read the descriptions of Norse singing by foreigners; one said that they sounded like animals growling!

A link to the song about Yggdrasil (the mythical tree that connects the nine mythical worlds) that I supposed Gisla to like, is [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M-YCtdu7gAM)

Norse dancing – while there isn’t much definitive evidence of what dancing was like in the Viking Age, there are images in carvings that indicate that men and women may have danced together. And there are descriptions of Norse dancing in the Middle Ages in which the dancing was so raucous as to cause everything not nailed down to move around.

Mushrooms -- (show canon) – Psilocybin mushrooms have likely been used since prehistoric times in a variety of cultures, including European ones. The do cause the sort of hallucinations that Gisla experienced (and strange behavior that we saw on the show), some descriptions are, “colors seem brighter, more saturated,” “everything is suddenly tattooed with light, while unbidden faces may peer out from the woodwork.” One person reported that the freckles on her arm “got up and danced away.” An article discussing this is [here.](http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/03/books/review/Teresi-t.html?_r=0)

Carrying Gisla across the threshold – Rollo thinks about how if this was a traditional Norse marriage, he would carry the bride across the threshold of the house. This is described as taking place at the feast hall in the above link (see Bridal-crown). It was thought to be bad luck if the bride stumbled on her way to her wedding or feast, so the groom would carry her over the threshold. He would also thrust a sword into a beam in the ceiling of the hall or house – test the luck of the marriage and to symbolize his virility.

Hati and Sköll – wolf brothers who chase Máni and Sól. Rollo has all four of these characters in Norse mythology tattooed across his chest.

Frigg – goddess of marriage, motherhood, love, fertility, and destiny.

 

~~

Once again, thanks for reading – comments are welcome!


	14. The Princess and the Bear in the Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which the Bear helps the Princess recover from her hangover and they visit the Viking Village.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many thanks to Swimmingfox for going above and beyond on this one with her always-superb editorial skills. And thanks to Windchimed for the quick turnaround on my surface edit. 
> 
> And to my readers, thanks for your patience. This chapter gave me more trouble than I had expected. The muse just wasn’t with me much these past few weeks! As always, your comments spur me forward, so please don’t be shy.  
> 

~~

 

Rollo awoke just before dawn. It took him only a moment to realize where he was; he felt Gisla bundled tightly against him in their bearskin bed, and he heard the sound of the river lapping gently against the shore. He smiled and was tempted to slumber on with her, but knew that she would be mortified if others found them like this. 

So he rose, found that she did not stir, and decided to let her sleep. He found her chemise and tied it about his waist to cover himself, then bundled her back up in the bearskin and carried her to the house. Thankfully, no one seemed to be about, yet he knew well that there were sentries on duty, though discreet.

He laid Gisla back onto the pile of furs in the bed and crawled in after her, pulling their bearskin over them. No one would disturb them unless there was some problem, so he settled in for a good, long sleep.

He woke, ravenous, and wondered how long he’d slept. The sun seemed well up. He glanced over at Gisla and saw that she did not stir. He would go for food and bring it back for them. They would honeymoon here all day if he had his way. He threw on his clothes and slipped out of the house.

Outside, he blinked in the sunlight, and nearly ran into Halvar.

“Ha, ha, a little too much mead for you, Rollo?” 

“Perhaps. Have you been out here all night?”

“No, no, Gulbrand and I took shifts. Nothing much happened. Only the bear sighting.” 

“What? Where?”

“A bear and its mate. By the river.” Halvar gave Rollo a quirky smile, and Rollo realized what he meant.

“Ah. Very funny.” He punched Halvar in the arm, and they laughed together. 

“So things seem…better?”

“ _Much_ better.”

“Good, good.” Halvar gave him a sly smile.

Suddenly Rollo realized where the mushrooms had come from. He shook his head. “I don’t know whether to thank you or berate you – it could have made her sick.” Rollo stared in mock dismay. “But all things considered, I will thank you.” He sniffed at the savory aromas coming from the cooking fire. “I could eat an entire bear right now.”

“Go, get some food. I will stand watch if she should wake.”

When Rollo got back with a trencher of food and a loaf of bread under his arm, Gulbrand was there and Halvar was lumbering off towards his quarters. Rollo realized that they had been keeping their own watch since the assassination attempt. He thanked Gulbrand and told him to pass the word to Halvar and the other thegns whom he knew must have helped. 

Inside, Gisla still lay in the same position as he’d left her. He shook his head. No doubt she’d have a headache when she woke. He sat down at the table and watched her as he ate. He thought back with fondness on how responsive she’d been last night. Would she be that way again?

 

~~

 

Something beckoned to Gisla’s senses and she woke, groggy. Her head ached, and the light in the room hurt her eyes. But she smelled…chicken? She forced her eyes open and looked across the room to where it seemed that Rollo sat eating a chicken leg. She blinked and cringed again at the light.

Rollo’s voice came across the room. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She blinked again and turned away from the light.

“How – you feel?”

“My head aches. And–” She swallowed and licked her lips, trying to get some moisture into her mouth. 

“Ah, here.” He brought her a mug of something. She started to sit up a little, and realized she was naked under the covers. Embarrassed, she pulled up the furs and carefully reached a hand out to take the drink. She sipped a little, recognized the mead of last night, and looked at him suspiciously. 

“It will help.” He gave her a teasing sort of smile. 

She sipped a bit more, then handed him back the mug and eased her head back against the furs. “Thank you.” She covered herself more fully and shifted uncomfortably. What had happened last night? She had drunk a lot of mead. She found she had only scattered memories of the feast – music, dancing, cats? And other things – were they real? 

“What is wrong?”

She shook her head slowly. “I had a strange dream.”

“Oh? What – you dream?”

She thought a moment. “You danced…” She looked at him in question and whispered, “…under the moon.”

He laughed and looked a little sheepish as he shook his head. “Not – dream.”

Gisla flushed. She had not said it – but she remembered that he had been naked. And she had stared at him. And touched his bare chest. His markings. “Mani?”

He grinned. “Mani. ‘Moon.’” He patted his chest where the moon marking lay hidden under his tunic. “You were beautiful – under – Mani.”

Gisla tried not to look. What else had happened? She glanced at the bearskin that was wrapped around her. Only a vague recollection came to her. Surely she had not – they had not. Not outside – in the open? Like animals? She looked up at him in horror. “Did we–?” But she was already remembering the answer.

Rollo smiled at her warmly. “Yes. You were – _good_.”

She blushed deeply. But what had happened after? Where were her clothes? Surely she didn’t go out naked? “How did I get here? I don’t remember.”

He chuckled. “You were – sleeping. I – bring you.”

She groaned inwardly. How many people might have seen her? “The people – they saw?”

“No. It – was – night. No one saw.”

But she did remember now that Halvar had been there – he had shown her where Rollo was. Oh, what must he think of her, going after Rollo like an animal in heat? “Halvar? I saw Halvar.”

“Halvar – is – friend. He not – tell.” Rollo must have noticed her concern, for he repeated, “No one saw. It – is – all right.” He moved closer to her, smiling, and gently stroked her cheek. “You – make me – happy.”

She flushed, wondering what had gotten into her last night. But other matters interfered. “Please.”

He moved away slightly and looked curious. “Yes? You are hungry?”

“No.” She was embarrassed. She glanced around the room, trying to remember where the privy was. “The privy?”

“Ah, yes. There.” He pointed to a large pot in the corner, covered with a lid. 

“Oh.” It was right in the open. She could not use it with him in the room. She looked about for some way to be more private. 

He noticed her hesitation. “I – help you?”

She shook her head – and instantly regretted it. “No – no. Please. May I be alone?” She motioned to him and at the door.

He looked confused for a moment, then raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Yes. I go outside.” He left, still chuckling.

She sighed in relief. 

 

~~

 

Halvar was back again, not right by the tent door, but a few feet away, sitting on a log whittling. “Rollo, good morning. Is your princess awake?”

“Yes, at last.” 

“And is she well?”

“She has been better. But yes, well enough, I think.”

“Then what are you doing out here? No one minds if you and your bride _sleep late_. You are honeymooning, after all!”

Rollo chuckled and said, low, “She had to use the ‘ _privy_.’”

Halvar laughed. “She is so shy that she can’t piss in front of her husband?”

Rollo realized that perhaps he shouldn’t have told him this. “Shh, yes, she is shy about such things.”

At that moment, the door opened and Gisla appeared, hiding a little behind the door. She had a fur wrapped around her, partially covering her chemise. 

“Good morning, your highness!” Halvar sang out. 

Gisla blushed. “Good morning, Halvar.” She looked pointedly at Rollo.

Rollo took his leave of Halvar and went over to her. “What is it, wife?”

She whispered. “Where are my clothes? I cannot find my box.”

He gave her a wicked smile and said loud enough for Halvar to hear, “Why you – need clothes?”

Her mouth dropped open as Halvar’s laugh rang out, and she turned and retreated into the house. Rollo laughed and gave Halvar a wave.

Inside, she was flushed and angry. “You _____ me _____ Halvar!”

“It is – joke.”

She looked skeptical, and seemed about to say something more, but suddenly put her hand to her stomach and turned away from him. 

“Gisla? You are – sick?”

She did not answer, so he went to her and put his arm around her waist, helping her to the bed. She did not seem to need the privy, but was wobbly. She sat down carefully.

“My stomach. And my head.”

“Sorry. Too much mead.” He was not sure how to tell her about the mushrooms, but it didn’t matter. She should go back to bed. “Come to bed. Rest.”

She looked up at him in question. “But the people? Do they not expect us in the village?”

“No. Honeymoon. The people – expect us – in bed.”

She looked away, clearly embarrassed. But she also did not look much able to go out yet. 

Rollo brought her the mug of mead and some bits of bread. “Eat and drink – a little. Feel better. Then bed.”

So she sipped and nibbled a bit and he sat beside her and devoured the rest of the chicken. After a little while she was just sitting there, holding the cup. He took it from her and put it on the table. “Come, bed.”

He helped her into bed and taking off his tunic, curled himself around her. 

She glanced at him with a little dread in her eyes. “Please, I can’t–” 

He interrupted. “No, I know. Just sleep.” 

She looked relieved and settled back.

He lay on his side next to her, gently stroking her head, trying to relieve the headache. He thought of how many times Siggy did this for him and found that he liked that he had someone he could take care of. He drifted off to sleep wondering how she would be with him when she was feeling better. Would she respond to him again as she did last night? He let the memories of the night before soothe him to sleep.

 

~~

 

When Gisla awoke again, she was feeling much better. She could feel Rollo sleeping beside her, his steady breaths coming against the back of her neck. 

She stirred a little. Her head still hurt a bit, but she thought she could rise. It must be late now. It troubled her that they had come to visit with the people and here she was abed in the afternoon. She experimented with sitting up and looked about for her clothes. She never had found them.

She was startled by Rollo’s hand against her back. 

“You are better?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good. I get some food?”

She could not help but smile at this. He seemed always to be eating. “Yes, please.”

“Maybe – fish? Good for – head hurt.”

She held up her hand, aghast. “No, no fish, please. Only bread for me. And perhaps a little wine?”

He chuckled. “Yes, all right.” He stretched luxuriously. He rubbed her back a bit more and then rose and bounded across the room to fetch both items. 

A little later he had helped her out of bed, and she’d determined that she was fit enough to go out. 

“But first I must pray.” She looked about to see where she could have prayer and realized that there would not be a prie-dieu here. 

As she was pondering this, Rollo moved past her and cleared a space along a wall, removing a few things hanging on pegs there. He took the cross from his neck and hung it up. Then he pulled a fur from the bed, folded it, and laid it near the wall. 

“Prie-dieu.” He stretched his hand out invitingly. 

Pleasantly surprised, she nodded and thanked him, then stepped towards the makeshift altar. She was a little wobbly as she sank to her knees, but immediately felt his arm steadying her. She settled herself on the fur and on impulse, turned to him. 

“Will you pray too?”

He gave her a sly smile. “I prayed last night.” 

She gazed at him and a look passed between them. She thought of how he’d been last night, dancing wildly, stark naked, under the moon, chanting strange pagan words. She knew she should be critical: she should chide him for such behavior. But she felt a pang of guilt; her own behavior was far from Christian-like last night. And yet somehow none of this troubled her quite the way it would have before. This morning, she found herself wanting him beside her, pagan or not.

She smiled gently at him. “You will pray with me now?” She waved her hand over the space beside her.

As if something inside him had melted at her invitation, he nodded slowly. She moved over to make room for him and he knelt beside her. She began the Lord’s Prayer, and he joined in as she slowly intoned the hallowed words. She did not know why, but it filled her with a new peace to kneel beside him saying these words. She continued with a prayer of thanksgiving, for it seemed that God had answered her prayer for acceptance. And she prayed for understanding as to what her role was now. Perhaps she was the Lord’s vessel to Rollo and his people. 

 

~~

 

Some time later, Rollo was walking in the village with Gisla on his arm. He was particularly proud of her this afternoon. She wore her new Norse gown with the brooches and a new beaded necklace that he’d given her as a morning gift. She’d been surprised at that, but he had wanted to give her something personally, privately. He was pleased that she seemed to truly like the items he’d had made for her. 

The women he’d asked to tend to her had done her hair in a traditional Norse style, pulled back and knotted at the nape of her neck, with a long braid hanging down. She wore the silver circlet and looked so amazingly simple, yet regal, that he could hardly believe she was his. When he complimented her warmly, he was rewarded with a blush and a smile.

They strolled leisurely through the village, stopping here and there at the various tents or enclosures where people were going about their daily work. Sinric accompanied them and translated when communication became too complicated for Rollo alone. From time to time, Rollo caught Gisla stealing glances at him and when he’d look over to her, she would turn away, flushing slightly. He grinned, supposing that she was thinking of the night before.

Gisla had been eager to visit the women who had made her dress to show them how much she liked it; Rollo had only been too pleased that she wanted to visit them and show off how lovely she looked in their handwork. He was even more pleased when she lingered there for a bit, watching one of the women weaving linen cloth and another working her nålbinding. Gisla expressed interest in learning this craft, for it seemed quite different than the sewing she was used to in Paris. The Norse girl was quick to offer to show her, and repeated some stitches over and over for Gisla to study. Gisla watched her for a few minutes and then suddenly seemed to remember something.

“There was mention of nålbinding in the insults last night, was there not?”

Sinric chuckled as he nodded, before he translated for Rollo and explained the insult to her again. “The first man was insulting the second man for helping his wife with her nålbinding while the first one was out fighting.”

Gisla’s jaw worked slightly. “So it is an insult to help with women’s work? But it is the woman’s nålbinding that keeps the man warm in winter, no?”

Sinric laughed and passed her comment to Rollo. 

Rollo grinned. “It is the _woman_ who keeps the man warm in winter.”

Gisla did not even flinch. “So, it is the woman on both counts.”

The men – and the women - laughed, and the girl teaching Gisla gave her an admiring look. Gisla thanked the women, and she and Rollo wandered on.

They visited the carpenters who were working on some furniture and some fittings for one of the ships that had been left with them. Gisla watched their work briefly, commenting on the beauty of the carvings that one of the men was working on. They also stopped at the forge where the swordsmith was polishing a long sword. Gisla expressed admiration for his fine work, and Rollo told her a little of the Ulfberht sword’s excellence.

The silversmith’s shop was nearby, and they stopped to watch as Knud worked on a torc bracelet. Gisla had noticed Rollo’s own torc some time ago, but he had not had the words to explain it to her. Now, with Sinric’s help, he told her of the importance of the torc as a symbol of the transition from training to a warrior. She examined the wolf heads at the ends of the bracelet and admired the fine work.

They walked a little distance to a large clearing where men – and women – were training. They watched for a time, and Rollo noticed that Gisla took particular interest in the shieldmaidens. So he suggested that they go over and watch them more closely. He wondered whether Gisla might like to learn to fight; she certainly had the fortitude: on the wall during the battle, she had stood her ground even when his men were swarming up there to attack. She watched with interest for some time and when the women stopped to rest, Rollo called to one of the women, and she came over to talk to them. 

The woman, Bjorghildr, explained to Gisla how they trained and then offered to teach Gisla some moves. Gisla at first looked startled, then intrigued, then seemed to remember herself, as if this was not an appropriate thing for her to do. She thanked the woman and touched her hand to her temple, “Perhaps another time.” Her voice dropped to an embarrassed whisper. “My head – the mead, it was very strong.”

Bjorghildr chuckled knowingly and offered to teach her whenever she wished. Gisla thanked her graciously and Bjorghildr went back to training with the other women. Gisla watched for a few minutes. 

Rollo was watching Gisla. “Do you want to learn to fight? You could be good at it.”

She looked up at him, surprise and then doubt in her eyes. “I think I will leave the fighting to those who know it best.” She looked at him as if sizing him up, as if to say that she knew he was the fighter in the family. But then she seemed to change her mind, for she suddenly spoke again, with just a touch of mischief in her eyes. “Of course I might like to learn to defend myself. So that the next time a barbarian comes over my walls, I shall know what to do.”

Sinric translated this and Rollo roared in laughter. Gisla looked sheepish, turned red, and walked quickly ahead of them. 

“Why did she do that? It was very funny. Did she not mean it to be?”

“She did. But I don’t think she expected you to be so amused. She must be embarrassed to have made you laugh like that.”

Rollo watched her in appreciation. “I didn’t know she had such humor.” 

Gisla had gone ahead to another work area but stopped abruptly when she saw what was going on there, and spoke in an agitated voice. “What are they doing to him? Are they torturing him?” She pointed to a man whose back was being marked. He was moaning and grunting a little during the process. 

Sinric translated and Rollo laughed. “Yes, in manner of speaking. Wait, Sinric, don’t say that. Just tell her that it’s marking – that he is having his skin marked, as mine is.”

Sinric explained, and Gisla glanced momentarily at Rollo’s chest, though covered in a tunic, and blushed. He smiled, supposing that she thought of how she’d touched his markings last night. “Come and see how it is done.”

They walked closer to take a look, Rollo nodding “good day” to the artist and the man being marked. Rollo joked, “Hey, Agni, my wife is looking at your back.” 

The man shrugged a little, perhaps in reaction to one of the taps of the artist on his skin. “Maybe she’d rather look at my front.” The men all laughed. 

Gisla looked blank, and Sinric quickly said that it was a joke that didn’t translate well. One of the men nudged the man who was being marked – he hadn’t realized who had spoken. The artist stopped and the man moved so he could turn his head and see that it was Rollo and Gisla who stood there. He looked a little sheepish, but only a little. He nodded to them and turned back on his stomach so the artist could continue.

Gisla watched for a little while and then asked, “Does it hurt much?”

Rollo nodded. “A little. And it depends where the marks are put.”

Gisla asked about the design, so Rollo asked the man, “What design are you having? It’s not clear yet.”

Agni answered, his voice a bit muffled. “No, he just started. It’s Jörmungandr.” 

Rollo nodded, “Ah, of course.” He turned and explained it to Gisla. “His fylgja is the snake, so he would have Jörmungandr, the World Serpent on his back.”

Gisla expressed dismay when Sinric translated this to her. “He will have a serpent on his back? The symbol of evil?”

Rollo smiled at this. “No, to us it is a symbol of strength, ferocity.” 

Gisla looked unconvinced. “And guile?”

“Cunning, yes. In battle. To outwit the enemy. I have it myself, here.” He patted his hand over his ribs. 

Gisla’s mouth dropped open as she understood Sinric’s words. “You have a symbol of Satan on your skin? Forever?” She backed away, and he could see the horror in her eyes. She glanced back at Agni, then said abruptly, “I have seen enough. Please thank them for me.” She turned and walked away from them.

Rollo and Sinric exchanged looks. Rollo thanked Agni and the artist, and they hurried after her. 

They caught up with her, Rollo taking her arm to stop her. “Gisla, you have seen it before; why should it trouble you now?”

“I didn’t know it was a serpent! It looks like the sailor knots you have spoken of.”

“Ah, well, I should have explained it to you. But it makes no difference. It cannot harm you – any more than my wolves can. Markings only give inspiration.”

Gisla’s eyes were uncertain. She shook her head. “Please. Let me go. I must think, pray.” She slipped her arm out of his grasp and walked on ahead of them.

Rollo kept his distance, giving Gisla a chance to consider things, as she had done that day in the garden. Things had been going so well, and now this. He and Sinric followed her, and Rollo realized that she was just walking aimlessly. A slight hill was ahead of them, and she started to go over the rise. He gave a glance to Sinric and darted ahead. Perhaps she shouldn’t see this.

Too late. She stopped at the crest of the hill and gazed down into the little valley. He heard her give a little gasp and saw her hands rise to touch her cross. 

 

~~

 

Below her lay row after row of graves, marked with large round stones with pagan markings. Gisla was stunned to see so many of them, even though she knew that the Norsemen had expended a multitude of lives attempting to take the city. But seeing them all together here was shocking.

She felt Rollo’s presence, and somehow, suddenly, longed for his touch. “So many. I did not expect it.”

“Yes. And many others were lost to the river.” Sinric had caught up with them, and now translated.

Gisla just stood there, continuing to stare vacantly at the graveyard. Finally, she swallowed and whispered, “Your brother – he spent so many lives to take our city.” 

“Yes. He was determined.”

“And he will squander so many lives again when he returns?”

Rollo gave her a pained look. “He may, if he can gather them. But he expects to have us. That will change things.”

She thought of all the people she’d met and seen today added to this graveyard. She shivered.

Rollo put his arm around her. “Come, we should go back. You need your cloak – and the wrestling will be starting soon.”

She stood a moment longer and pondered. Her distress over the pagan markings seemed a distant thing. This marriage – however much it confused and troubled her to be married to a pagan, or half pagan – was to prevent that violent man from coming back and killing more people in their city. She would continue her prayers for acceptance – and guidance. She bent her head now and said a few words of supplication for the souls of all the lost. Rollo dropped his arm from around her and stood quietly beside her.

When she’d finished, she turned and nodded to Rollo, and they walked together back towards the village. As she walked, a thought occurred to her. “Are there not wounded? From the battle?”

“What?” Rollo turned to Sinric, who quickly explained. “Ah, yes, there are a few. Those who could travel left with Ragnar, some whose wounds would mend quickly stayed and are better, and there are a few who linger.”

“Where are they? You have not shown me a hospital tent.”

“No, there was one, but now there are only a few wounded left, so they stay with their families, if they have them, or with friends.”

“Who tends them? Have they a healer?”

“Yes, we have healers. A couple of them stayed with us.”

“Perhaps a priest from the hospital could come and help with them. He may have herbs to ease their suffering that you do not.”

Rollo looked at her curiously. But he only nodded. “Perhaps. I will speak to the healers – and the wounded – about it.”

They went back to the center of the village and retrieved Gisla’s cloak, then went to observe the wrestling matches given in their honor. Gisla watched for a little while, but found it distasteful to see the men fighting each other bare-chested and sweating. Many had markings of birds and animals etched into their skins – a constant reminder of the revelation she had had earlier. Unbidden, the image of Rollo’s serpent appeared in her mind. She wondered how he could put a symbol of evil on his skin permanently. Did he do it before or after he was baptized? 

She turned to ask Rollo, but found that he was watching the wrestling avidly and enjoying himself. She found that she could not disturb him. These were his people and they were honoring his marriage, so she would endure this along with the other things. 

Sinric asked her if she understood the rules of the matches. She replied that she didn’t really care to know and asked him if he could tell her about the lyrics to the song from the night before. His eyes lit up and he began to recite the lines for her. He seemed as pleased as she was to be distracted from the wrestling. 

 

~~

 

When the wrestling had ended, Rollo turned and found that Gisla was deep in conversation with Sinric. He realized that perhaps he was not so wise in having left Gisla’s ladies behind. He had wanted her all to himself and without the ladies, he could achieve that. But she had no one but Sinric to talk to freely. 

He cast about for something to talk about that would justify interrupting them. He wondered what they were speaking of and tried to catch Sinric’s eye. At last he settled for offering them more drink, and Sinric realized that Rollo wanted his attention. 

“Sinric, I have just thought of something that I have been meaning to ask Gisla when we had you to translate. I wish to know what her dreams were on our wedding night – and the night of the attack on me.”

Sinric looked a little surprised, but turned to translate Rollo’s question to Gisla. Gisla stared first at Sinric, then at Rollo, stammered something, and then fell silent.

“What did she say?”

“She says she does not remember.” 

“How can she not remember the night of the attack? She had a nightmare.”

“Perhaps she does not wish to speak of it.”

“But it is important to know the bride’s dreams; they may prophesy the future of the marriage. Did you not tell her that?”

“I will explain it to her.” Sinric turned to Gisla and talked at some length. Gisla looked surprised and perhaps a little disapproving, then nodded in understanding, but still said she could not remember. Rollo started to protest, but Sinric suggested that he wait and ask her later when Rollo and she could communicate better privately. “She’s obviously too shy to tell you.”

 _Maybe it’s sexual_ , Rollo thought. That could be prophetic in itself – perhaps she secretly really wanted him. But she was not man-eager, despite their amazing night together – that was the mushrooms – so she wouldn’t want to admit it yet. He took hope from this.

Gisla was watching him as he pondered Sinric’s words, and suddenly she burst out with something. Sinric nodded and waited for her to continue. She was recounting her nightmare from after the attack. Rollo listened with chagrin: he had terrified his wife. But then she described how he had transformed into Ragnar, grasping her by the throat before he took her captive. 

Rollo was angry. “I didn’t know he had choked you. But one of the men told me about the knife.” He shook his head. “You were very brave.”

“I was foolish, according to Odo.”

“Fearless, it seems.”

“I didn’t think; I only wanted to stop him from killing my father as he had the archbishop.”

“It was admirable, all the same.” 

She dipped her head slightly in acknowledgement. 

“And if Ragnar returns, he will not harm you; I will make sure of that.” 

She looked at him somberly and nodded. 

They sat silently for a few moments. Then someone called for music as the feast got underway. Gisla seemed to relax as they enjoyed the meal and the music. There was more dancing, but Gisla shook her head when he suggested they join the dancers. He realized that she must be tired.

“We go to – house? Sleep?”

She gave him a grateful smile. “Yes, please.”

When they rose to leave, a cry of protest went up around the room. Rollo laughed and waved them off, but some of the men roared something at him. 

“They want – I kiss you.”

She blushed, but nodded and shyly lifted her face to him. He kissed her soundly and a cheer went up. They left the hall amidst rowdy talk and many toasts. 

Sinric walked part of the way with them, so Rollo took the opportunity to speak to her. He took her hand, and she glanced up at him in surprise, but her eyes softened as he squeezed her hand tightly. "Today was a good day – mostly. I am sorry for the misunderstanding about the markings.” 

Gisla looked at him a little sheepishly. "I am not as patient as I should be. I will try harder in the future." 

Rollo didn't know whether she meant that she would be patient about the people becoming Christians or just patient with them being pagans. But he took hope in her words and mood and put his arm around her as they continued. Sinric bade them good night and went off to his own quarters, and they found themselves alone.

Gisla looked up at the sky. “ _Mani_ is full tonight.”

A warm feeling flowed through Rollo. “Yes.” He hugged her closer, as they approached their door. He released her when he opened the door for her. 

Inside the numerous candles were lit around the room, and she made a little sound of contentment. “Who lights the candles?"

"The women."

"They are kind."

Rollo looked over her dress. "I – bring them to help you?"

"No." She looked down, her eyes a little shy. "You can help me, no?"

Rollo nodded slowly as a smile spread across his face. “Yes.”

 

~~

 

Historical Notes

Hangovers in history – people have had hangovers throughout history and have had a multitude of remedies for them, including one mentioned as used in medieval Scandinavia: the eating of fried herring. I was just as surprised by that remedy as Gisla was, so I had her decline to try that! I can’t find the original reference for that, but [this link](http://www.sheknows.com/food-and-recipes/articles/987821/hangover-cures-from-around-the-world) includes a Scandinavian-influenced hangover remedy used in Germany, and [this one](http://lordsofthedrinks.com/2015/04/11/svidasulta-the-traditional-icelandic-hangover-cure-made-from-sheeps-head) has a supposedly traditional hangover cure in Iceland (it sounds worse than fried herring!).

I’d much prefer something the ancient Greeks apparently recommended, the wearing of a leafy necklace. Recently, archeologists and linguists translated a [papyrus](http://www.livescience.com/50544-ancient-hangover-cure-discovered.html) which indicates that the hangover victim would string together leaves from a shrub called Alexandrian Chamaedaphne and possibly wear it around the neck. There’s no indication as to how effective this remedy was.

Viking women’s hairstyles – apparently the knot-style hair twist was a common hairstyle for Viking women. It appears on amulets, pendants, and runestones from the 6th to 8th centuries, so it is supposed that Viking women wore it as well. More [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/hairstyl.shtml#WomensHairstyles). The first photo [here](http://zoesongs.tumblr.com/post/138530011872) was the inspiration for Gisla’s Viking look. 

Viking weaving – Gisla is probably watching a woman use a warp-weighted loom, as the ones depicted in the photos on [this page](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warp-weighted_loom.). 

Nålbinding – a style of yarn work that predates knitting. Photo [here](http://img12.deviantart.net/fb81/i/2013/122/9/0/synchronized_nalbinding_by_lirhluthvik-d63syh6.jpg) and [here.](https://ingebretsensknits.files.wordpress.com/2014/06/sock-in-progress-2.jpg) Video [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O8PXk5lTIZo). 

Ulfberht swordmaking – This was a swordmaking technique that was unknown to the Vikings’ rivals for centuries. The Nova program, [“Secrets of the Viking Sword”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6woycxQzA0) looks into the technology needed to make such fine, strong steel. 

Torc bracelets – Show canon has this bracelet being important to the warrior status of a man. The torc neck ring and wrist ring goes back to at least the 8th century B.C. and gets its name from the twisting nature of the metal in many of the surviving specimens. They seemed to go out of fashion around the 3rd century A.D., but came back into fashion with the Viking Age. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torc). Rollo wears a torc with little wolves on the tips, as seen in the photos [here.](http://zoesongs.tumblr.com/post/138530011872) [This](http://www.urweg.com/list/bracelets/Sigtuna%20Cuff%20t.jpg) is a museum replica of a Viking torc.

Bjorghildr (Borghildr) -- Old Norse name composed of the elements bjorg "help, salvation" and hildr "battle, fight," hence "helpful battle maid." In mythology, this is the name of the goddess of the evening mist who slays the sun every night. I added the “j” in there from the original word just because I thought it looked (and sounded) better.

Agni – Old Norse name meaning "edge (of a sword)."

Viking tattoos – I deliberately avoided using the word “tattoo” since it derives from the Pacific Island languages of Tahiti, Tonga, Samoa (ta-tau), and the Marquesas (ta-tu). And since there doesn’t seem to be an Old Norse word for tattoo, I just used the word “marking.” It’s not entirely certain that the Vikings tattooed themselves. Skin does not often survive for archeological study and there have not been any finds from the Viking Age that show that they were tattooed. It’s not mentioned in any of the sagas, though other physical characteristics like scars and hair color were. But an Arab writer, Ibn Fadlan, met a people called the Rus, Swedish Viking traders, in A.D. 921, and wrote that they were tattooed from the tips of their fingers to their necks with dark green figures of trees and symbols, though it is likely that they were really dark blue and that the markings were made of wood ash. The word he used for the markings was that which the Arabs used to describe Mosque decorations. It is likely that if the Vikings did tattoo themselves, they would use the symbols and designs that are found on other items that have been found in archeological digs. More [here](http://www.historyonthenet.com/vikings/viking-tattoos-historical-or-not.html.).

Jörmungandr – In Norse Mythology, he is a sea serpent, the child of the giantess Angrboda and Loki. According to the Prose Edda, Odin threw him into the great ocean that encircles Midgard, the realm inhabited by humans, and he grew so large that he was able to surround the earth and grasp his own tail. As a result, he received the name of the Midgard Serpent or World Serpent. When he lets go, the world will end. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B6rmungandr).

Fylgja –In Norse mythology, a fylgja is a spirit who accompanies a person in connection to their fate or fortune. Men who were viewed as leaders would often have fylgja to show their true character. This means that if they had a “tame nature,” their fylgja would typically be an ox, goat, or boar. If they had an “untame nature” they would have a fylgja such as a fox, wolf, deer, bear, eagle, falcon, leopard, lion, or a serpent. Rollo’s name means “Famous Wolf” and he sees his fylgia as the wolf, but at least in show canon that has not stopped him from placing Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, on his torso. Thanks to Swimmingfox for identifying that. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fylgja.). [Here](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/b0/15/c3/b015c3bd9c718e60af08420f72ded3e0.jpg) is how it looks on Rollo. 

The serpent in Biblical symbolism – the serpent famously appears in the Bible to tempt Eve in the garden of Eden precipitating man’s fall from grace, hence its association with evil. So Gisla is rightly disturbed by the thought that a serpent is permanently etched on her husband’s body and those of his men. But I found it interesting to read that the snake is also considered a symbol of wisdom or salvation: “One of the most interesting serpent stories in the Bible is found in Numbers 21, where God punishes the Israelites by sending poisonous serpents among them. Moses, following their repentance, made a bronze serpent and set it up on a pole, and whoever was bitten by a serpent could look up at it and live. Even more fascinating is Jesus’ self-comparison with the same serpent in John 3:14-15, foreshadowing his own death on the cross and offer of salvation. Sir William Smith thus sees the serpent as symbolic of wisdom, which, apart from obedience to God, degenerates to cunning and poisons man’s nature, but when subjected to the divine law is the source of healing restoration.” More [here](http://classroom.synonym.com/meaning-snake-serpent-christian-symbol-bible-5567.html.).

Viking gravestones – While there are multiple Viking funeral and burial customs, including barrows or mounds called “tumuli,” some Viking burial sites are marked with large stones, such as at the Lindholm-Høje burial site in as in the photo [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lindholm_H%C3%B8je#/media/File:Lindholm-Hoje.web.jpg). These do not have markings on them, but I took some license and imagined that some contemporary markings may have been made with wood ash or charcoal that would have washed away fairly quickly.

Viking Wrestling – the Viking form, Glíma, was the most widespread sport in the Viking Age, and was practiced by men and women of all ages. Wherever Vikings gathered, Glíma was a big part of the entertainment. Glíma was so important for Viking society that their most popular god, Thor, was also the Viking god of wrestling. The word glíma in Old Norse means glimpse or flash, which describes the system's techniques. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glima). A video demonstrating how this might have looked during the Viking Age is [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xTfR6MulCKk). 

Bride’s dreams – One of the customs for Viking weddings, was that the bride's dream's on the wedding night would be noted, for they were held to be prophetic of the number of children she would bear, the fortune of her marriage, and the destiny of her descendants. This, and more about Viking weddings, including discussion of the Morning Gift, are [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/wedding.shtml).

~~  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](http://imgur.com/RIKYXeH)   
> 


	15. The Princess and the Bear in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which Gisla learns more about village life, and Rollo plans for the voyage to Rouen – and Ragnar.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  A special thanks to Swimmingfox for editing this despite needing to be ready for her own voyage. Thanks also to [UnderTheSkyline](http://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheSkyline/pseuds/UnderTheSkyline%20%20) for giving me valuable feedback and suggestions when I was hitting a wall on this one. And to Windchimed for her always-excellent surface edit and grammar suggestions. It truly takes a village! 
> 
> To my readers: I find myself apologizing yet again for taking so long with this chapter. A combination of real life responsibilities, participation in a [delightfully-crazy-impromptu ficathon sort of thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5938387/chapters/13654897), [the impulse to respond to the various Season 4 clips that came out](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6018915), and just plain old writer’s block have kept me from getting this done in my target time. Thanks for your patience – and all the lovely comments that have come in recently. Please keep them coming – they are greatly appreciated and serve to inspire me and spur me along!
> 
> Note: This chapter picks up about a week after the last one.  
>   
> [](http://imgur.com/BHCiOsW)  
>   
>   
> 

  
~~

 

Noise. A pounding racket. And Gisla stirring, agitated. All caused Rollo to come awake. 

Gisla’s concerned voice rose amidst the din. “What is it? Is it an attack?”

He raised his head and listened, blinking at her in the dimmed candlelight. Then he smiled. “Yes. A – water – attack.”

She made a small gasp of consternation, and he nudged her and pointed to the ceiling. She grew very still, then released a breath. “Oh! The rain.” 

She had half risen from the bed and now relaxed back against the furs. “I ____ not heard it so loud ____.” It thundered on the roof louder than he’d heard it since he’d come here.

“Not in – palace.” He chuckled and pulled her closer to him. “You – not sleep in – small house before.”

“No.” He felt her shake her head slightly. “I only heard it on the ______ in the courtyard.”

He tightened his arms around her, drawing her head onto his shoulder. “It is good to sleep – in rain. Uh, good when warm and – not wet.” 

“Dry.”

“Yes, warm and dry.” He snuggled against her, enjoying the feel of her smooth soft body against him.

Things had been better between them since they’d been staying in the village. At first he’d been disappointed that she was not as responsive as she’d been that first night. He told himself that this was to be expected; she had been drunk and was acting on instinct then. But he’d been excited by her fervor; he wanted to ignite that in her again. 

Instead she was shy and tentative. But not reluctant or resistant. Nor simply dutiful as she had been in the first weeks of their marriage. And he’d realized that this was how she might have been if they’d known each other on their wedding night, rather than her being resentful and fearful. 

But he had found that with patience, he could now push past her reserve. He could make her lose herself in her passion and she would respond, albeit more timidly than on that splendid night. He had hope that this would improve with time.

He longed to make love to her again tonight, under the pounding rain. But he recognized that when he pressed her too often she seemed to feel obligated. A little shadow would pass over her eyes for a moment, before she acquiesced with reticence. He wanted to kindle an equal sense of shared pleasure in her, not just appeal to her sense of duty. So he bided his time, enjoying being close to her, knowing that it was a new thing for her to lie in a man’s arms, and taking joy in that he was her first and only such companion. 

So he settled back in to sleep with the rain drumming on the roof. He was just drifting off again when she spoke his name softly, with a question in her voice.

“Hmm?”

“The people of the village – are they warm and dry? In their tents and huts?”

He smiled to himself. It warmed him that she was thinking of the comforts of his people. “Yes. Of course. We know – to build – umm – house top.”

“Roof?”

“Yes, roof. We build good roof. There is – much – rain in Kattegat.”

He could feel her nodding against his shoulder. “And the tents?”

“They have–” He had no idea how to explain the way the tents kept the water out. “They are – dry.”

She nodded again. “Good.” She sighed softly and he could feel her relax against him. Or not. She wriggled a bit, then pulled away and started to slide out of bed.

“What is it?” 

She ducked her head away from him and whispered, “I need the privy.”

He laughed. “The rain – noise – makes you – need privy!”

She gave a breath of a laugh, and then said, “Don’t look!” She slid the rest of the way out from under the furs. 

He could make out her slim figure in the candlelight. He smiled as he enjoyed her curves. 

But then she stole a glance at him and exclaimed, “You are looking!”

“You – not at privy!” He teased her by tucking his head under the furs and peeking back out again, enjoying her consternation. “Don’t worry. I – not look.” And he ducked his head under again, chuckling. He knew she would be glad that the rain would drown out any sound she might make. Such a shy wife about such things.

A short time later she returned, and her body was chilly as she slid back under the covers. She shivered a bit and he pulled her close to share his body heat. “Brrr!” he teased. “Always – cold feet!”

He heard what could have been a giggle, and then she pressed her body completely against him without apology and he chuckled again. 

He thanked Frigg and Freyr and asked them to make all their nights as comfortable and peaceful as this.

 

~~

 

It was still raining in the morning, so Rollo and Gisla stayed in, as did most of the people. They spent the morning quietly; she had prayed and read her prayer book for some time, then worked at her nålbinding. During the past days, she had spent time with the women in the weaving hut and they had shown her how. She wasn’t very good at it yet, but was pleased that the scarf she was making was growing a little longer every day. 

Rollo had listened as she’d read the prayer book, looking at the drawings with interest as he always did, and pronouncing the names of the saints carefully. He did seem to be making an effort to learn about Christianity, but Gisla still had her doubts about what he really believed. She had not asked any more about the markings on his chest and arms; she had closed her eyes – figuratively and literally – to them after that first day. 

Now Rollo was whittling a small piece of wood. He seemed quite proficient at it and she had looked at his work with curiosity. It seemed to be a little figure of a man with a beard – in fact, it looked rather like himself. He’d finished one and was working on another. She wondered if they were just for amusement or had some deeper meaning. Finally, a little frustrated with her nålbinding, she asked him about it. 

He started to answer, but then stopped, shaking his head as if he’d just thought of something he’d forgotten, and told her to wait. He dashed out into the rain and was gone for a few minutes. He returned bearing a large, flat square of wood and a small bag that rattled as he walked. And he had Sinric in tow.

The men placed the wood, which seemed to be some sort of game board, on the table and drew up their chairs around it, and Rollo beckoned for Gisla to join them. He helped her pull her chair over to the table and he began to teach her to play, with Sinric translating. The game had a name that was difficult to pronounce, something like “ha – ne – fa – ta – fel.” It was very like chess, though instead of having two armies of equal size, it seemed that the king of one army had fewer men and had to defend against an attacking army of greater size. The board was rough-hewn and many of the pieces looked like the men that Rollo had been whittling.

Gisla watched as Rollo and Sinric played a couple of games together, explaining the moves and strategy as they went. She caught on fairly quickly and soon Sinric invited her to take his place, while he continued to explain the moves that she could make in attempting to take Rollo’s king. With Sinric’s help, she surrounded and captured the king. She felt ridiculously pleased, considering the help she had gotten, but she still looked at Rollo triumphantly. She was a little embarrassed at her reaction until she saw that Rollo was grinning from ear to ear. It seemed that he liked that she was enjoying the game. So they continued for some time until she could play on her own. Sinric stayed to help them with conversation and Rollo insisted that he take a few turns against Gisla as well. 

As they played, Gisla was reminded of the real battles that had taken place here in Paris – and the one to come. All week she had watched as carpenters worked on several new ships that Rollo was having built, and men – and women – were training. She wondered how Rollo felt about the forthcoming attack.

“Do you worry about when your brother will come?” she ventured tentatively.

Rollo looked up with surprise at the word “brother” and waited attentively as Sinric translated. “I don’t worry. I plan,” came his response. If he was uncomfortable talking about it, he did not show it.

“Will we have enough ships to fend off the attack before it reaches Paris?” The intention was that ships in Rouen would engage Ragnar’s ships before he could attack the city again.

“We should be able to build enough of them, if the weather is good. Sinric tells me that you do not get much snow here, so we may be able to build all winter.”

“Will he really come in the spring? So soon?”

“If he can convince enough of the remaining earls to send ships and men, he will return before summer.”

“Did you not say that he was very ill? Perhaps he won’t come so soon – or at all? Could he not have died?”

Rollo’s brows furrowed as he thought. “My brother is a very strong and determined man. He left here alive, so I think he will return. Perhaps not next year, but certainly the year after. But we must prepare for the worst.”

“Of course.” She wondered if “the worst” could be worse than the siege they’d just survived. The people of the city had suffered so much. For them to face that again so soon – or ever – seemed too much to bear. 

Her concern must have shown on her face, for Rollo was saying something with a gentle tone. “You must not worry. I have been planning everything with my men – and yours. We will be ready.”

She nodded and smiled weakly. She took a deep breath and threw herself back into the tafl game. 

 

~~

 

The rain had stopped by the next morning and the sun peeked through the remaining clouds. There was a lovely green smell about the trees and grass that Gisla breathed in as if it was perfume. The camp was muddy in places and she was glad that she had her boots on as she traipsed about with Rollo. Over the past week, they had visited with the people every day, and Gisla had begun to get to know many of them. On Gisla’s request, they had visited the wounded in their various tents and houses. Gisla reflected on Rollo’s suggestion that they could endow a hospital in Rouen. She hoped that he had really meant it; she looked forward to having a place there where wounded like these could go.

Rollo had spent time each day planning the move to Rouen. She watched with interest. He seemed very good at organizing things and he seemed to know just what was going on with each group of men. She saw that he was a good leader; the men listened to him and seemed to respect him, not just as a war leader, at which he was clearly very skilled, but as a community leader. She began to see that he might make a very good ruler for Rouen. 

She asked him how he got these skills, and he said that he had organized many trips with Ragnar over the years. Ragnar relied on him to organize the men and supplies.

There was much to prepare, both for war and for daily living, and as she traversed the village, she realized that the people had built a lot of furniture and small structures that would need to be moved. When she asked how many wagons they had, Rollo laughed and said none. They would transport it all on the ships and boats. Each day they walked through the shipyard and observed the progress the men were making. On a couple of the days, Rollo himself lent a hand to the carpenters, and Gisla was surprised to see how skilled he was in building. She found that she enjoyed watching him work. He fell into the rhythm of the other men, handling the tools and shaping the wood planks with a familiarity that she admired. It was a strange thing to think of her husband doing such handwork; anyone else she would have married would not have done so. But it seemed right here in this place. 

 

~~

 

Each day they also watched as the men and women trained. Sometimes Rollo would take part, joining in the rough practice that looked almost like actual fighting. She watched with interest and quietly admired the strength and agility of her husband. 

Today as they walked to a grassy area where the fighters were training during the break in the rain, a woman walked by them talking to a child. Gisla was startled as she realized that the woman was speaking in Frankish. She broke from Rollo and called to the woman.

“You are Frankish! Good day to you.”

The woman grew flustered and bowed awkwardly. “Your highness, you honor me.”

“Why did you not come forward before? I didn’t know there were Franks in the village.”

“I was too shy to speak to you. I am only a miller’s daughter.”

“And you have married one of my husband’s men?” Gisla recalled that Sinric had mentioned that a couple of the men had been trying to court women in a village down river. 

“Yes. Some of the men came into our village. We were frightened, but they only wanted to trade. My father milled some grain for them and while Einarr was waiting, he played with my son. He was kind to him, so I knew he could not be a bad man.”

Gisla smiled. She supposed that she could judge Rollo that way too; she had seen often enough how fond he was of children. Just today she’d seen him play-wrestling with a couple of boys in the village. She stole a look at Rollo, who had gone on to join the men who were training. 

“How do you speak to each other?” She glanced at Sinric, who was standing a polite distance from them, having realized that she didn’t need his help.

The woman laughed. “We don’t say much. He trains with the men and chops wood; I prepare the food and mend the clothes. There is little need for talk. But my boy is learning quickly – he can translate a little for us.”

“And your husband…he is good to you?”

“Yes – better than my first husband. He was always drunk.”

Gisla was a little surprised that the woman, who had been so shy at first, was now speaking so freely. But she was glad to have a woman to talk to in Frankish. She and the woman chatted for a few minutes longer before Gisla took her leave. 

She watched Rollo and the men training for a while but found that her eye kept being drawn to where the women were training. She drifted over to them. Rollo and Sinric came to join her and pointed out some of the moves the women were making.

Bjorghildr approached them again and asked if she was ready to try. She had considered it but still wondered if it was proper for the wife of the leader to do such things. Nor did she have clothing like the shieldmaidens did; could she manage? She looked to Rollo, still unsure.

He smiled and nodded encouragingly. “Why not try? It will only be a little practice; the women will not hurt you. It will be – a bit like a dance.”

Bjorghildr laughed and mock-glared at Rollo momentarily, but then quickly assured Gisla that she would show her how to tie her skirts so she could move properly and that the women would be careful. Gisla glanced at Rollo, and he was nodding with encouragement. So she agreed to try.

The women tied up Gisla’s skirts, gave her a lightweight training shield and taught her some simple defensive moves in blocking a sword thrust. They demonstrated in a pattern, had her practice it over and over, then had her try to defend against an “attack.” One of the women, using a training sword, thrust first to the top left, then to the top right, then lower right, then lower left, in a circle. Gisla parried the thrusts each time, and they repeated the pattern several times. She was at first quite nervous but tried to hide it. As she continued, though, she found that she could do it. The women commended her first efforts, and Gisla nodded in thanks. “But that was predictable; it was indeed like a dance. You must make it harder.”

Sinric translated this, and the women – and Rollo – exclaimed at her eagerness. Bjorghildr warned her that this time they would not strike in the pattern. And again Gisla blocked their hits, only faltering once when her opponent struck twice in the same place. The women applauded her success and invited her to continue. So they practiced with her many times, each time striking alternatively or repeatedly to test Gisla until she seemed to be comfortable defending herself. After a time, they suggested that she learn to handle a sword, but she had grown tired; she was unused to such exercise. “The next time, perhaps?”

The women happily agreed and helped her to restore her dress to order.

Rollo had been watching with appreciation and applauded along with the women. A little crowd of observers had gathered and now offered her praise for her efforts. Gisla was a little embarrassed that so many had been watching and was glad that she had not been aware of it when she was practicing. She thanked the shield maidens for teaching her and hurried away with Rollo and Sinric.

As they walked back into the main part of the village, she noticed that Rollo seemed to be stealing glances at her. “What is it?” 

“You were very good. I liked to see you fighting. Did you like it? You did very well.”

“Thank you. I liked it well enough. But I’m sure they were being very gentle with me.”

“Of course, but so would they be with any new woman in training. If you like it, you must continue.”

She glanced at him, saw that he was sincere, and smiled. “I may.”

 

~~

 

The next day, Rollo was asked to settle a dispute among his men. He called them together in the common area to hear the concern before everyone, as was done in Kattegat. To Gisla’s surprise, he had her sit at his side, as he intended they would do in Rouen. 

It seemed that the two men in question, Kettil and Leifr, were arguing over a piece of silver jewelry that one said the other had taken without his permission. Kettil had missed it, and it turned out that it had been brought to silversmith Knud to be fashioned into another item. Knud testified that he had received the piece to work on, but that he did not know that it might have belonged to another man.

Gisla listened as Sinric explained what was going on, and she looked back and forth between the two men who presented their case. Kettil seemed much more agitated than she supposed he might be. He seemed to have plenty of silver and other jewelry about his person, while Leifr did not. His anger reminded her of the man in Paris whose daughter had been raped. 

All of a sudden, Kettil, who had glanced at her from time to time during the proceedings, looked at her directly and said something in an agitated tone. She asked Sinric what was wrong; was he saying something about her?

“He says it seems that you sit there in judgment of him, and you do not know anything about him. He asks why you stare at him that way.”

She was taken aback that the man would dare to confront her so. But before she could say anything, Rollo spoke angrily, and Sinric translated his words. “She is my wife; she has a right to be here by my side. All the people attend, so of course she should be here.”

“But she does not know me; how can she judge?”

“I did not say she would judge, but she can listen and she is wise. Let us ask her what she was thinking.”

Gisla was a little surprised that Rollo would demand this, but she was not afraid to speak. “I was thinking that this man, Kettil, seems much too angry for this dispute to be only about the silver jewelry. I wondered if something else was troubling him.”

Kettil listened as Sinric finished translating and then looked surprised. And oddly enough, Leifr looked strangely guilty. Kettil began shouting angrily at Leifr, and Leifr shouted back at him, although not quite so fiercely.

Rollo stood and demanded that they calm down. Then he asked Kettil to speak calmly and tell what had happened.

It seemed that Kettil’s wife had decided to leave him and go with Leifr. Gisla was shocked. Sinric explained to her that a woman could do that if she was dissatisfied with the marriage, under certain circumstances. 

“What were the circumstances? Was he cruel to her?”

Sinric waited as the men continued talking. Then he told her, quietly, “No, he could not give her children.”

“How does she know that it is he who cannot, and not her?”

“It seems he was married before and had not had children in five years of marriage. His wife died of a fever. It was assumed that she was the one who could not have children.”

Gisla nodded, appalled, but recalled that such things had been done by royalty in the past. But it had been kings or nobles who had set aside wives, not women setting aside husbands.

She listened as the men discussed it; it seemed that when the wife left, she took the jewelry that he had given her as a gift when she was his wife. Kettil wanted it back, particularly that one piece.

Rollo seemed about to suggest what they should do, but turned instead to Gisla. “Perhaps we should hear from a woman on this issue. What would you think is fair? Did she have the right to take the gifts?”

Gisla looked at him for a moment, then to Sinric, and replied, “I do not know your laws, but unless he was cruel to her, I do not think she had cause to take the gifts. She has chosen a new husband, so it would be fair if she returned the jewelry. Kettil may wish to marry again – perhaps a widow with children – and he will wish to give the gifts to his new wife. This woman’s new husband can give her his own gifts, can he not?”

Rollo nodded at her words, then turned back to the men. Kettil looked a little surprised at her response, and Leifr seemed chagrinned enough at being found out about the wife swap that he nodded in agreement. 

Rollo added, “Since the piece has already been melted down and changed, perhaps Kettil might be allowed to choose a different piece that he may do with as he wishes.” He turned and asked the people present to give their opinion.

The people gave their agreement to his opinion, and Leifr grudgingly agreed as well.

After the people had left, Rollo congratulated Gisla for her success at the meeting. She felt a strange sort of pride that she had seemed to be as wise as he had said she was. Suddenly, the future in Rouen seemed a little less bleak.

 

~~

 

Another week had passed, and Rollo was satisfied that all the plans to move to Rouen were well underway. Enough ships would be seaworthy to move their goods over the course of a few trips, and a large number of people would go to begin settlement. Apparently it was not too late to lay in a crop of winter rye, so the people were eager to get started. They would finish with the best of the ships and leave in a couple of weeks.

On the night before they were set to return to Paris, Rollo took Gisla to the hill overlooking the city. He had gone there quite often before the marriage offer came. He would sit on the hillside, staring at the city, wondering what the future held. 

Now, as he helped Gisla to the top of the hill, he listened to her small gasp of surprise at how the city looked at night. The lights along the city walls and the fires at the main gate were glowing. 

Rollo put his arm around her. It pleased him to come here with her and think upon how his life had changed in such a short time – and how happy he was becoming in his marriage. And yet, he realized that there was still much danger to come. He tried never to show it, but he dreaded the thought of when Ragnar would come. He had no desire to fight his brother and it gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach to think of the actual deed. But he had hope that it would not come to that. 

He sent up a silent prayer to the Norns, hoping that they, like the weavers in the village, would weave his destiny well. He drew Gisla closer to him and thanked all the gods for how far fate had brought him. 

 

~~  


 

Historical Notes

Viking tents – Tents may not have needed waterproofing; if the weave was tight and the fabric staked taut and at a strong angle, the water would roll off. People would need to avoid touching the interior of the tent or water would leak through (wicking), but otherwise they were fairly watertight. This is discussed [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/history/comments/vqdzq/how_did_people_in_the_past_waterproof_their_tents/). More historical info and historical reproductions of tents, including one in a Viking style can be found [here](http://www.pantherprimitives.com/catalog23/Catalog23web.pdf).  
For advice on how to keep reproduction tents clean, see [here](http://www.currentmiddleages.org/tents/pavgeneral.htm).

Frigg is the goddess of home and hearth.

Freyr is the ruler of peace, fertility, rain, and sunshine. 

Hnefatafl was a popular game in medieval Scandinavia and was mentioned in several of the Norse Sagas. The rules of the game were never explicitly recorded, and only playing pieces and fragmentary boards survive, so it is not known for sure how the game was played. The name means “King’s Table.” What little is known indicates that the king's objective was to escape to (variously) the board's periphery or corners, while the greater force's objective was to capture him. The attacking force has the natural advantage at the start of each game, likely indicating an important cultural aspect by mimicking the success of Viking raids. Another cultural indication of the king is that importance of the Viking chiefs' presence in battle. Although the kings of Europe later claimed divine rule and sat upon the throne rather than bodies in the battlefield, it was essential for a Viking chief to be considered an equal in war. The importance of war is also reflected in Hnefatafl because it is a war strategy game, which can indicate an important reason why the gaming boards have been found with males of all ages. In Balnakeil, a male skeleton between the ages of 8 and 13 was found with weapons and a Hnefatafl board game. Vikings tended to take boys onto the battlefield with them, which explains why young boys also played these war-strategic board games. Games took about one minute to set up and could be anywhere from five to twenty minutes long.

More information about the game is [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tafl_games) and [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/games.shtml).

Photos of what are thought to be 12th century Hnefatafl pieces are [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lewis_chessmen) and another Viking chess piece is [here](http://www.instructables.com/id/Carved-Viking-Chess-piece/).

There is also more information about the history of chess [here](http://history.chess.free.fr/first-european.htm). This site says that game pieces found in the Alsace region of what is today France, are from the 9th-11th centuries, so it could have been played in Frankia in 911 (when Rollo is supposed to have married Gisla).

Woodworking: (including Rollo’s “selfie” that he was whittling) – Scandinavians of the Viking Age were excellent woodworkers and most men would have at least some basic woodworking skills to repair things around the home. Whittling was considered among the forms of solitary recreation enjoyed during the Viking Age. As always, the Viking Answer Lady has an extensive article on the skills that the Vikings had and the tools that have been found in digs. It can be found [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/wood.shtml).

Shieldmaidens – the existence of shieldmaidens is debated by historians, and though there is evidence of women warriors in most cultures at some point, including among the Vikings, evidence of regular groups of women warriors is contested. There is some archeological evidence in art showing women with shields and swords, but it is possible that they depict the Valkyries and not human women. An excellent article with citations of evidence and scholarly discussion can be found [here](http://www.tor.com/2015/06/08/viking-warrior-women-did-shieldmaidens-like-lagertha-really-exist/). Another interesting article about whether there were shield maidens or not, is [here](http://www.missedinhistory.com/blog/raining-on-your-parade-about-those-women-viking-warriors/).

The picset photo of the shieldmaidens training is [here](http://instagify.com/user/katiecastle/37122346). 

The Thing – Rollo’s council to hear the dispute of the two men is based loosely on the formal governing assembly of Scandinavians during the Viking Age. At such meetings disputes were solved and political decisions were made. Of interest may be the meeting in 1018 at Gamla Uppsala in which Þorgnýr the Lawspeaker forced King Olof Skötkonung of Sweden not only to accept peace with his enemy, King Olaf the Stout of Norway, but also to give his daughter to him in marriage. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thing_\(assembly\)#Viking_and_medieval_society).

Royal divorce or annulment – Gisla may have been thinking of the annulment of the marriage of her ancestor Charlesmagne and his first wife, Desiderata. He repudiated her and married 13-year-old Hildegard who bore him nine children. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlemagne) and [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Desiderata_of_the_Lombards).

Winter rye – Europeans in the medieval era, including Scandinavians, planted autumn-sown rye, a plant that could be used for bread or for animal consumption. It was also used to prevent soil erosion and as part of a crop rotation system in the Viking Age. Sources are [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/food.shtml), [here](http://www.foodrepublic.com/2013/03/01/10-things-you-didnt-know-about-rye-the-worlds-most-underrated-grain/), and [here](http://www.growbrutebucks.com/info.php?id=46).

Norns – goddesses or spirits who spin the threads of life into people’s fate; also Frigg is the spinning goddess who knows the fate of all men. More information [here](http://kws.atlantia.sca.org/dieties.html).

Paris at night photo is [here](https://timeslipsblog.files.wordpress.com/2015/04/paris-at-night21.jpg).  



	16. The Princess and the Bear Prepare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which Rollo and Gisla make preparations in Paris for their departure to Rouen.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Thanks once again to Swimmingfox for going above and beyond in editing this double-sized chapter even while in a far away land. Thanks also to UnderTheSkyline for her story suggestions and beta-reading. And thanks to Windchimed for the very quick turnaround and her eagle-eye on the surface edit. 
> 
> And to my readers, thanks once again for your patience. This time I had much of the chapter written very shortly after the last one, but real life required my attention for a much longer period than before. And editing takes twice as long with a longer chapter. Hopefully it will be worth the wait. As always, your comments spur me forward, so please don’t be shy.  
>   
>   
> [](http://imgur.com/aZutgds)  
>   
>   
>   
> 

  
~~

 

It was a bright, clear afternoon when Gisla and Rollo returned to the city. As their boat was paddled across the river, Gisla looked at the other boats with men returning and thought of how it must have been when Rollo’s men had crossed the river to attack. The city walls loomed up from the water and she wondered how the men could find the courage to think they could possibly breach them. 

She noticed that Rollo was staring thoughtfully ahead – perhaps he was wondering the same thing. Or perhaps he was thinking about what Ragnar's men would do when they arrived. 

Rollo turned to her and took her hand. “You are glad to – return?”

She looked up in surprise. “Yes. But it is rather bittersweet as we will leave again so soon.”

“What is ‘bitter – sweet’?” Sinric was with them, but further back in the boat. Rollo would try to understand on his own. 

“Good, but sad also.”

“Ah, I see.” He was pensive, perhaps feeling guilty that it was he who would take her from Paris.

Gisla took pity on him. “I was glad to be with your people. It will be good to be with them again in Rouen."

He smiled, seemingly relieved. "Good." He squeezed her hand. 

 

~~

 

When Rollo had entered the city last time, it had been for his betrothal and wedding. Now he returned more confident, with firm plans for the future, and with his wife by his side. He had great hope that things would be better. But Gisla seemed preoccupied as they crossed. Was she worried about returning to the city? 

As they approached the shore, she released her hand from his and reached into a large pouch that she'd kept near her. She pulled out a folded length of cloth and began to shake it out. She lifted the silver circlet that she wore over her braided hair and placed the cloth over her head as a veil, then replaced the silver circlet. He frowned inwardly, for he much preferred to see her lovely hair, but he said nothing. He would not interfere with her customs here in the city. Perhaps in Rouen things could be different.

 

~~

 

As they arrived at the gate of the city, the people smiled and bowed to Gisla as she passed. Roland met them at the gate and escorted them in. Rollo asked him many questions, and they planned for Rollo to go to the training yard and work again with the men there. Rollo seemed very eager to get back to training and preparing here. Strangely she had not thought as often of Paris as she had expected to while in the village. 

As they walked together into the city, Gisla asked Roland how things had been. “Was there any sign that there were more men plotting?”

“No. I have seen nothing nor have the trusted men I assigned to listen for such things.” He waited while Sinric translated for Rollo. Rollo nodded in approval.

Gisla asked, “How are Clothild and the child?”

Roland’s face softened at the mention. “They are well. I received another letter just yesterday. As did you, I think. It will await you.”

“Ah, good, I look forward to reading it.” They walked a little farther before she ventured her next question. “And my father? We should wait upon him?”

Roland looked a little uncomfortable. “No, he is at prayer.”

“How strange, he rarely attends the noon prayer. I should join him, but I am very late for it now. I heard the bells while we were on the river. I will go to Vespers tonight.” So her father had chosen to avoid them. Must she seek audience with her own father?

They entered the palace and Rollo prepared to go with Roland and the other guards to the training yard. Rollo turned to take his leave. 

“You – will come – watch?”

Gisla smiled at this. She had spent a great deal of time watching while they were in the village. But she had been away from the city too long. “I will go to see my ladies, and then to the hospital. It has been so long since I have visited.”

Rollo nodded, his eyes showing acceptance. “Umm, until – supper, then?” He looked as if he would like to embrace or kiss her, but seemed to think better of it and just smiled. 

“Yes.” She returned his smile and watched for a moment as he, Sinric, and Roland went away with the other men. She turned and continued into the palace with her guards. Back to her royal duties.

 

~~ 

 

Gisla went to her apartments and found her ladies working in the bedroom, packing things in boxes. 

As she entered, Ermengarde sang out, “Welcome back, Your Highness!” She took in Gisla’s dress and sauntered up to her, saying, with a twinkle in her eye, “ _These_ are new. May I?” Gisla nodded indulgently, and Ermengarde touched the brooches pinned to Gisla’s cloak. “And these! So beautiful!” She fingered the strands of beads connecting the brooches.

“Yes, they are a gift from Rollo.”

“Ooh, _Rollo_.” Ermengarde’s eyes lifted as she said it. “You call him by name now.”

“What else would I call him?”

“I do not recall you calling him anything before you left. So things are perhaps a little better with him?”

“Things are quite fine with my husband, thank you, Ermengarde.” Gisla did not know why it was, but she always felt she had to put Ermengarde in her place. 

If the girl was chagrinned, she did not show it. She merely beamed and would have said more, but some men arrived with Gisla’s box of clothing from the boat.

Rosamund cleared her throat. “Ermengarde, please go and find Herleva, and you two can unpack Her Highness’s box. No doubt there are linens to be washed and gowns to be aired.” Rosamund gave the girl a pointed look and Ermengarde left, giggling a little as she went.

Rosamund turned to Gisla, stopping before her and looking her up and down as if assessing that she was still in one piece. “It is good to see you, my dear. It was strange to have you away for so long.”

Gisla stepped forward and embraced her oldest friend. “It is good to be back, Rosamund. It seemed strange to be _away_. But I must get used to this idea.”

Rosamund looked at her sadly. “At least we are preparing. Your father sent word that he wished that we would begin the packing. He said to take whatever I thought you would want for the new household. And you have all the lovely things that were set aside as part of your dowry long ago, and your mother’s things as well.”

Gisla turned to look at the items that Rosamund had been folding and was glad the woman could not see the contempt on her face. Her father was trying to make up for sending her away by giving her luxurious things for Rouen. But she said only, “He has been most generous. And I'm glad you're making ready so there will be less work as the time grows closer.”

Rosamund glanced at the door where Ermengarde had exited. “So is it true that things are a little better with Lord Rollo?”

Gisla saw the concern in the older woman’s eyes. She knew that Rosamund had worried after seeing the bruises on Gisla’s shoulders after the attack. “Yes, things are good with him. You do not need to worry. He is good to me.” She did not like to say much, for though her feelings towards Rollo had softened, they were still uncertain. It was true that things were better – she trusted Rollo more, and he really was good to her. But while she did enjoy getting to know the people in the village, returning to the city had reminded her of all she would leave behind. 

Rosamund embraced her again gently, murmuring, “I am glad, my child. I wish only for your happiness.”

Just then, Ermengarde returned with Herleva in tow. Herleva gave a little curtsy to Gisla, and the two young women began to unpack the box. Gisla and Rosamund turned their attention to the linens that Rosamund had been sorting for Rouen. 

They were interrupted by Ermengarde’s exclamation of surprise. “What is this?” 

Gisla turned to see that Ermengarde was holding up the Norse apron dress.

“It is another gift from my husband. It is a traditional dress that the Norse women wear.”

“Another gift! He is very fond of you, I think.”

“Perhaps. But it is tradition to have gifts for the bride. They held a feast for us as well.” She would not relate all the events of the feast. 

Herleva was smoothing the crimson under-dress. “It is very fine work, Your Highness.”

“Yes. You will treat it carefully, please.” Gisla looked at it fondly in spite of herself. 

“Of course!” Ermengarde giggled at Herleva. 

Gisla could not suppress a silent groan at all of this display. But she knew that Ermengarde meant no harm, so she turned again to Rosamund. “I would like to wash a little and change my clothes. I will go to the hospital and then to Vespers.” 

As Herleva removed the veil, she exclaimed at Gisla’s hair. “What an unusual sort of plait! Who tended you while you were there?”

Gisla put her hand to the great braided knot at the nape of her neck. “Two Norse women of the village. They were very kind to me.”

Ermengarde looked from the apron dress, now laid out on the bed, to Gisla’s hair. “He wants you to be a Norse woman like they are.”

Gisla only smiled. 

 

~~

 

Rollo finished a long afternoon of training and went to prepare for supper. He supposed that Gisla would have returned by now from Vespers. But she did not. He asked the guards about her and found that she had never returned from the hospital and that there had been no word. Worried, he gathered his men and was about to head into the city to look for her when she returned, safe, her guards with her as usual. Sinric accompanied him.

“Gisla, where have you been? I have been worried.”

“I was in the city. I must speak to Sir Roland.” She started to move past him, but he stopped her. 

“What is the matter? Has something happened? You were attacked?” He addressed first her, then the guards, but looking them over, saw that no one appeared to have been in a fight. Gisla seemed fine physically, though her mood was dark. 

“No.” She turned to two of her guards and ordered them to find Roland, then turned back to Rollo. “We have been looking for a lost boy. The son of one of the guards in the hospital. He ran away.”

“Why would he do that?” 

“Because his father died.” She closed her eyes, as if it was too painful to see again what she must have seen there. “He has no family now.” She turned her head, clearly anguished. “The church will take him, but the boy wanted to be a guard, not a priest.”

Rollo listened as Sinric explained. “What has been done to find him?” 

“Father Bernard sent two of the monks to look for him. And my guards and I have been through much of the south side of the city looking. But he cannot be found. I will ask Roland to send more guards to look before nightfall.”

“Good, then perhaps he will be found. And if not, then tomorrow I will take my men and join the search.”

Again, Gisla looked surprised. Why should she? Did she think he would not care that a child was lost and despondent? He recalled his own grief at the loss of his mother when he was young. 

Roland appeared from around the corner, followed by several guards. Gisla spoke to him quickly and Roland nodded and sent several men off to the city.

Gisla stood staring after them. Roland spoke quietly to her. Rollo asked Sinric what he was saying. 

“He says that the boy will be found. And he will find someone to foster him with so he can later become a guard as he and his father wished.”

Rollo nodded approvingly. But of course, they had to find the boy first. 

Roland and Gisla finished talking and Roland bowed and took his leave. Gisla turned, saw Rollo, and gave him a grim look. 

Rollo approached her and put her arm in his, as he began to escort her to their quarters. “He will be found. And when he is, _we_ will – foster him. He can come to Rouen with us. I will train him myself, if you wish.”

As Sinric finished translating, Rollo watched as Gisla’s eyes brimmed over with tears. She nodded tersely, and took a deep breath before answering, softly, “Thank you.”

 

~~

 

They ate in their room; Gisla’s father had not asked them to sup with him. Gisla was just as glad. She was in no mood to endure her father’s obsequious behavior toward Rollo. Though she was not upset with _Rollo_ – he had been so understanding about finding the boy. But it was he who was taking her away from Paris. Her mind was so muddled right now. The loss of the child and the guard – she could only imagine what would happen after she left for Rouen.

She could not help brooding as she picked over her meal. She knew she was being unreasonable. She was so happy while they were staying at the village that she had not thought much about what could be happening in the city during her absence. 

Rollo’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Gisla. It – is not your – umm – _problem_.”

Gisla looked at him sharply. “It _is_. He was our guard. His boy was our responsibility – all widows and orphans of our men are.”

“No. I know. Not what I – mean.” Rollo shook his head in frustration. “I mean you – not – cause. Not your–”

“Fault.”

“Yes, _fault_. Not your fault.”

She pursed her lips, deliberating the truth of this. “Not my fault. No. But if I had been here, he would not have run away. I would have brought him to the palace. He would be safe.”

Rollo seemed to understand most of this. But he repeated. “Not your fault.” He reached across the table to take her hand. “We – find him.” 

She looked into his eyes – and for the moment, believed him.

 

~~

 

Later, in bed, Rollo pondered the events of the day. Gisla had seemed to blame him for the missing boy, though he knew in his heart that she was not so unreasonable. But he knew that she might feel that his taking her to the village had kept her from what she saw as her duty here. But they would soon both go to Rouen and she would no longer be at the hospital – or know what happened here. 

He longed for the seeming simplicity of the village. She had been almost carefree there for so much of the time. He had made her laugh – and made her sigh for him in bed. Now he could barely get through to her. He had pressed her to lie with him tonight, despite her being somewhat reluctant. She was at first distracted, but Rollo was patient and gently teased her into letting go a bit, and finally, with a great sigh of resignation – or relief – he had broken through her reserve. She had relaxed in his arms and allowed him to make love to her – and had even cried out in release at the end. 

She had seemed to soften towards him as they had fallen asleep. She had lain in his arms exhausted until he’d felt her head heavy on his chest. 

 

~~

 

Gisla awoke to an empty bed and the sound of her ladies’ voices, whispering as they went about their duties. Rollo must have left early to act upon what he’d promised the day before. She was still amazed that he would be so eager to help. 

She heard Ermengarde giggle over something Herleva said about the bed, and she realized that she and Rollo had left it rather more disorderly than usual. She blushed as she realized what Ermengarde would be saying about that. 

And yet, why should she blush? She was not naïve about marital relations now; she could actually confide in Ermengarde if she wished – even make rejoinders to her teasing. But it did not feel proper or seemly. Gisla suddenly thought about that first night in the village. She could only imagine what remarks Ermengarde would make about _that_ and was very glad that she could not know about it. Unless she _did_. What if the guards that were with her in the village talked about it? She was mortified at the thought. 

A little later, Gisla was leaving her apartments to attend Terce. As she passed the guards in her hallway, she thought that they seemed to be smirking at her. She glanced directly at them and their faces went blank, as they should be. She walked on by, and a terrible suspicion came over her. They must have heard her last night with Rollo. She had lost herself in her passion; she supposed she had been very loud. She blushed. All at once the memory of what that traitor guard had said to her came to her. _I suppose you like being fucked by a barbarian after all_. And now it was true – she _did_ enjoy being –. She enjoyed lying with her husband. But perhaps she was a little too loud about her enjoyment. 

She turned around and went back to confront the guards. They must never show such disrespect. But when she got back to them, she realized that she couldn’t say anything to them about this. But she had gone back, so she stopped before them and spoke to them.

“You are glad to be back at the palace, no?”

They looked up in surprised, and hesitating, both nodded. 

“You may prefer to stay here rather than come to Rouen with me, perhaps?”

There was confusion on their faces. But Marcoul spoke, shooting a glance sideways at his companion. “No, Your Highness, we have always served you. We would hope to continue to do so wherever you are.”

A proper, polite response. Perhaps she had been wrong; they were joking about some private thing. 

“Thank you. We will discuss the plans later.” They nodded politely, and she looked at them for a few moments longer. Then she nodded back and turned swiftly to go about her business. But doubt nagged her. The traitor guard’s words continued to echo in her mind. When had she started enjoying Rollo’s attentions? Had she betrayed her people by accepting her marriage this way? Perhaps she should not be taking such pleasure. He was still one of their enemy. But he was her husband, and it pleased him that she was pleased. She shook her head with bewilderment. It was so confusing! Was she becoming fond of him? She only knew that her hatred of him had faded. 

As she continued to the chapel, one of her father’s servants approached and told her that her father wished her to wait upon him. She hurried to his apartments. As she entered, he looked up at her and frowning, beckoned her to sit by him. 

“Gisla, my daughter, I must speak to you about your behavior yesterday.”

For one thunderstruck moment, Gisla supposed that her father had heard of her newfound carnal appreciation of her husband. But the king dispelled such thoughts with his next words.

“I have been told of how you ordered all the men about yesterday – including your husband – in front of everyone in the hall.”

Gisla started to protest, but her father held up his hand to stop her. “And you have sent dozens of men – who should be training – to look for a lost boy? It is too much.”

Gisla gaped at him. “Too much? But he is the son of one of our most valued palace guards. Surely that merits our looking for him?”

“Yes, but a few men would be enough. The boy will turn up, I am sure. But this is not the time to take Rollo from his training. Nor to order him about. He will come to hate you. You must seek to please him, not demand that he do things to please you.”

“But it was his own idea; he wanted to help.”

Her father rolled his eyes with obvious skepticism. Then he leaned towards her, veiled menace in his eyes. “You will be careful to cultivate a proper marital relationship with him. You must keep him happy and here, or the treaty will have been for nothing.” 

Gisla was appalled at the suggestion that she was not being a proper wife. Did her father not see how she had accepted Rollo? But she was still unsure of her feelings towards Rollo and even if she were certain, she would not share them with her father. She had not forgiven him for marrying her off – and to a commoner – without discussing it with her. “You need not worry, Father. I am certain that I have not displeased my husband. After all, he came looking for me when I did not return as early as expected yesterday. Does that not show that he is content with me?”

“No doubt he only wanted his wife to be beside him, as she should be.”

“He was worried for my safety; he thought I may have been attacked. _You_ did not send guards to seek me; you were not worried about me.”

The king said nothing, only looked at her with doubt in his eyes.

“If you do not believe me, why do you not ask my husband? You have made a great friend of him.”

“So I have. You will both dine with me tonight. I shall see for myself how this marriage is developing.”

 

~~

 

Rollo had returned to the palace empty-handed. The boy seemed to have vanished. None of the people they had talked to had noticed the child. Gisla had been vastly disappointed, and he felt again that she must blame him. She said nothing, but was quiet all evening. They went to sup with the king and Rollo thought as he often had of how strange it was that this man seemed to be so trusting of him and friendly to him, but chary of his own daughter. He seemed to need to hear that Gisla was being a satisfactory wife.

Rollo decided to tell the king of all their activities in the village. He stressed how proud he was of how she had won over the people, learning some of their language and their ways. Rollo noticed how Gisla sat up a little straighter as she heard Sinric translate his words. She inserted her own comments about how fine the ships were and how fast they were coming along. The king nodded congenially and asked Rollo to tell him more. They spoke about the training, troop strength, and for a few minutes, Rollo thought that perhaps the king was more interested in military things than he’d appeared. He was certainly concerned about keeping his kingdom together. But shortly after, the king began to appear bored. 

So Rollo mentioned to the king that in the evenings he enjoyed playing chess with Gisla. 

Rollo had asked her to teach him this game after they had had such enjoyment from playing hnefatafl in the village. He had caught on quickly, for it had similarities to the tafl games, and he loved the challenge that Gisla gave him in playing it. He thought it interesting that the queen was the most powerful piece on the board, and that the king was so weak. He thought then of how much the game mirrored this Frankish king and his strong, spirited daughter. He would not, of course, point this out to the king. 

Now he watched as the king nodded pleasantly at the news of Rollo’s liking of the game. A thought seemed to occur to the man and he leaned towards his daughter, whispering something. A slight shadow passed over her face. Then she drew herself up and quietly said something back to him, her voice rising as she finished, “He is very good.”

Rollo wondered at what the king could have asked, but before he could inquire, the king was asking him something and Sinric translated. It seemed that the king was inviting Rollo to a game of chess on some evening to come. Rollo smilingly agreed. He also made a request, which he worded carefully, with the help of Sinric.

“Your Highness, in my visits to the hospital with my wife, I have come to appreciate the good that the healer-priests do. It troubles me that now that I will take Gisla away from her good works, perhaps the hospital will suffer some neglect. Is there not someone – one of the nobles you have introduced me to here – who can be asked to take her place as patron of the hospital?”

The king looked surprised at the question, and shot a suspicious look at Gisla. But Gisla seemed just as surprised as the king. She shook her head at her father, and gave Rollo a questioning look. 

The king sputtered for a moment, but recovered himself. “Yes, yes of course. We would not like to send you away with more troubles on your mind.” His eyes darted to Gisla as he said this. “Perhaps Lady Adallinda could be prevailed upon to represent the princess as patroness of the hospital?” 

A woman sitting a few seats below him started at the mention of her name, but quickly spoke up in an ingratiating tone, saying she’d be honored. 

The king looked to Rollo – and to Gisla – and both nodded their satisfaction.

It was a long meal, but Rollo believed that the king was satisfied. He wished he understood his thinking.

 

~~

 

After supper Rollo suggested that they walk in the garden. Sinric came along, trailing them as he usually did, to allow them time together. They enjoyed the early evening air, and Gisla thought about how she would not see this garden again for a long time – if ever. Noticing her mother’s tree, which had lost most of its leaves, made her think of the hospital, which her mother had cared about so deeply. 

On impulse she asked, “Did you do that for me – asking my father to send someone to see to the hospital?”

Rollo seemed surprised at the question. “Yes, but also for me. I do not want more children to suffer for what my people have done.”

“Thank you. It eases my mind a little. I had thought of asking Adallinda, but without my father’s approval, I fear she would not have acted.”

They walked for a little longer, and then Rollo looked at her curiously. “What did your father say to you when I had talked of playing chess?”

Gisla smiled to herself. “That he hoped that I was letting you win. I said that I had no need to, that you are very good.”

“But now he has asked me to play with him. Will he not be angry to discover that you lied?”

“He will think that I lied to spare you; he could see that I did not like speaking about you in your presence, so I said the last part so that you could hear. He will be sure to let you win, to keep you happy.”

Rollo shook his head at the odd behavior of this king. “I am happy. Winning at chess is not what makes me happy.”

A thought occurred to Gisla. “You did not let me win at hnefatafl, did you?”

“No, why should I? You too, are very good. I like that you challenge me in the game.”

The thought warmed Gisla. Some of the men she had played chess with were so arrogant that they couldn’t bear to be beaten by a woman.

 

~~

 

They wandered into the other part of the garden, where it was clear that there had been work on her mother’s flowerbed. 

Gisla gazed at the freshly tilled soil, trying to imagine the lush colors that would be here in spring. “It is a shame that no one will enjoy them. Few people come to this part of the garden.”

“Perhaps Clothild will come with the child and see them.”

Gisla turned to him in surprise. “Yes, of course.” He had recalled what she had shared from Clothild’s letter, that in a few weeks she would come to the city to stay. Roland felt she would be safer here in case Odo’s army should attack the lands surrounding the city. She smiled at the thought that her friend might share the flowers that she had planted. Another bittersweet thing, but it made leaving somehow a bit easier. 

 

~~

 

That night in bed Rollo tried to incite Gisla’s passion once again. But while she did not refuse him, she seemed to have a renewed reticence. She was very still and did not respond much to his lovemaking. 

“Gisla, what is – wrong? You are – not well?”

She opened her eyes, but did not quite meet his. “I am well.”

“But – you like – this, no?” He had been kissing her neck, creeping up to the place behind her ear, a pattern that she had liked very much previously. When they’d been in the village he’d found that when he kissed her there and blew into her ear, she would sigh and seem to melt against him. Last night she had done so. But tonight she seemed to ignite only a little, then became silent and still.

“Yes. I like it.” 

“Why you not – show it?”

“The guards; they will hear.”

He glanced towards the door, which was some distance from the bed. He supposed they might hear something, but he’d not thought that Gisla had been loud enough for that. “We are not – so loud?”

“They must have heard last night; they were smirking at me this morning.”

“What is – _smirk-ing_?”

“Smiling; laughing.”

“Ah, but they – respect – you, no?”

“Yes. But they were laughing at something.”

“Guards must – pass – time. To stay – watching.”

She said nothing. 

“Gisla, if – they hear – so what? We are – married. It is not – sin.”

She made a huffing sound. “It is not a sin, but it is not ______ that they should hear such things.”

Rollo recognized that he would not convince her. At least not tonight. “Well, then, we will be – more – quiet.” He resumed kissing her, hoping to at least make her relax. 

But he would make sure that in Rouen their sleeping area was far enough from the outer door that guards would never hear them. 

 

~~

 

The next day, after she had seen off the men who were to look for the boy, Gisla decided to go into the city on another mission. She had inquired about what had happened with the dowries that were supposed to be given to the women who had been attacked. Her father’s minister of finance had assured her that funds had been set aside, but that very few women had come forward to claim dowries. She was pleased to learn that those women who had claimed dowries were now married. She wondered if Joveta was one of them and set off to find out. 

As she walked through the many streets to where the girl lived, she was acutely aware of the difference between the life she’d briefly had in the village, and how it was here in the city. There was a freedom there that she did not feel here. Here she must be more formal, always have many guards around her. Here the people bowed to her where the Viking people, although polite and deferential, had not. It was odd; she had not thought of such a thing before leaving Paris. But now she found she missed the simpler life of the village.

As she approached the street where the girl lived, she was taken back to that day when she and Rollo walked through the city. So much seemed to have changed since then. The people did not seem to recall any discontent or scorn, though she was not with her husband now. They were as cordial and welcoming to her as before this had all happened.

She reached the house where Joveta lived and was pleased to see that it seemed in better repair than when she’d visited before. Perhaps Joveta had wed and her husband had moved in. She instructed a guard to inquire. 

The door opened slowly, and the girl herself peeked out cautiously. The guard indicated that Gisla would like to speak to her and the girl looked surprised, and pulled the door fully open.

“Your Highness, you honor me! Please come in.”

The rooms seemed more crowded than when Gisla had been there before. Gisla wondered as to why it was so. Before she could ask, the girl carefully unfolded a linen cloth and draped it over the largest of the chairs in the room. 

“Please, Your Highness, won’t you sit down? I would like to serve you a cup of wine this time if I might, by way of thank you?”

Gisla nodded her head graciously and sat down. She allowed the girl to serve her and requested that she sit down as well. 

“So, am I to assume that you have received the dowry?”

“Oh, yes, Your Highness, and very promptly after you promised it. I thank you.”

“And so, you are betrothed? Or married?” There seemed to be no evidence of a spouse – or the girl’s father for that matter. 

Joveta’s face clouded for a moment. Then she straightened and spoke strongly. “No, I am not. My betrothed will marry another girl.”

“Ah. I am sorry. Perhaps another man will be interested.”

“Perhaps in time. But I have reconciled to it.”

“And your father? Where is he?”

“He is working; he is a seller in the market stalls. He and his new wife.”

“Ah, he has married.”

“Yes – one of the other women who received the dowry. She was a widow.”

“Ah, that is good. She is not here?”

“No, she works in the stalls with my father. But they live here.” A slight shadow passed over the girl’s face such that Gisla supposed that the girl did not find living with a stepmother very pleasant.

“That is good.” Gisla said absently. She had an idea. She rose and the girl jumped to her feet.

“You must go so soon?”

“No, I would like to see your woven goods. Will you show me?”

“Yes, of course, but I will bring them to you.”

“No, no, I would like to walk about and see them.”

So Gisla wandered around and examined the various pieces of linen and wool that were finished and draped or folded in the room. The girl proudly showed her some pieces she had just completed. They were well-made and of fine quality thread. 

Gisla stopped and turned to the girl. “I have a proposal for you.”

“Yes? A commission, perhaps?”

“Yes, that too. But first, the proposal. I would like you to consider coming to Rouen with me, being a weaver in my service, at the palace there.”

The girl looked astonished. “Be in _your_ service? Oh, Your Highness, I would be honored. You are so kind to ask.”

“It is not only kindness; I know a good weaver when I see one and it would good to have someone from Paris at the palace.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Now, about that commission.” Gisla liked how the girl’s face lit up and how she listened eagerly as Gisla outlined what she wanted. She stayed for some time planning.

 

~~

 

Gisla was in the bedchamber with her ladies, making some final decisions about the items that would be taken to Rouen, when Rollo came in and beckoned to her. 

She walked over to him, with questioning eyes. He seemed to be watching her as he smiled broadly and said quietly, “The boy has been found.”

Gisla gave a cry of joy and threw her arms around him. He was starting to embrace her when she remembered herself and pulled away, glancing with embarrassment at the ladies, who were tittering behind her. Flustered, she turned back to Rollo and asked, “Where is he? Is he all right?”

“He is – good. Uh – downstairs. With Roland.”

“Let us go see him.” 

She started out the door, but was called back by Rosamund. “Gisla, your veil.”

Gisla whirled and went quickly back to the women. As they fastened the veil, Ermengarde whispered, “I have never seen you make free with him like that. Little boys should get lost and found more often, no?”

Gisla gave her a disapproving look, but her heart was not in it. She smiled in spite of herself and hurried off with Rollo. Ermengarde’s giggles could be heard all the way down the hall.

 

~~

 

The boy was made comfortable – bathed, fed, and put to bed in a servant’s chamber just off Rollo and Gisla’s room. Rollo was touched at how warm and gentle Gisla had been with the boy. He had been dirty, hungry, and exhausted when they’d finally found him hiding in a stable – ironically not very far from the hospital. The poor boy was shaking when Gisla arrived; it seems that he feared that he would be beaten for running away. 

Rollo had watched with growing affection as Gisla had knelt down, hugged the child warmly, and told him firmly that of course he would not be beaten, that it had been wrong for him to run away, and that he had caused her great worry and must promise never to do so again, but that she wanted only that he be safe and well. The boy had broken down in tears and the princess had held him tenderly, comforting him with soft words and a gentle touch. 

At last she had gently set him from her, looked him in the eyes, and said, “You are mine now. No harm will come to you.” The boy’s eyes had widened and he had nodded, though it was clear that he could scarcely believe it. 

Gisla rose, and tripping a little on her gown, had started to right herself when the boy grasped her hand again firmly and helped her rise. She smiled down on him, held on to his hand, and led him away.

Now Rollo lay next to Gisla, listening to her breathing in her sleep. He had hoped to make love to her tonight, supposing that perhaps her joy in finding the child would extend to joy in their union. He had made overtures, but she had whispered, “The boy is in the next room. He may hear.”

“He was – tired. He will sleep – hard.”

“But he will be grieving his father; he may be wakeful.”

Rollo was silent for a few moments, considering this. “Will you be – grieving _your_ father? I mean, when we – go to Rouen.”

He could just see in the dim light that she grimaced. “I believe I will grieve him more than he will grieve me.”

He had found her hand under the covers and held it firmly as they fell asleep. 

 

~~

 

The night before they were to leave, on his suggestion, Rollo and Gisla had gone to the cathedral tower one last time. Rollo had climbed those stairs at least a dozen times since they’d first done so together, reconnoitering the city for defensive purposes, trying to see the city as Ragnar or other enemies might. But he had wanted to just see it one last time – and see where they were heading to.

As they reached the top, Rollo had gone straight to the view that had Rouen in the distance. He stood there for a long time. And it was Gisla, this time, who had gone from window to window, albeit slowly and without excitement, to take one last look at her beloved city. At last she came back and joined him at his window and stood silently looking into the distance. He put his arm around her and said, “We will have – good – fate – in Rouen.” 

Gisla had put her hand on his where it lay on the windowsill, and nodded silently. They had stayed there until it was nearly dark.

 

~~

 

The day had come for them to leave. Rollo and Gisla led the royal procession to the dock. The people lined the streets of Paris, and Gisla was touched at the emotion she saw in their eyes as they wished her well. She steeled herself against her own emotion and kept her head high, her walk dignified: she would have them remember her as a noble princess who did her duty for their sake.

Finally, they reached the gates that led to the docks. Their ship was waiting, and the guards held back the throng of people who had crowded nearby to see them off. 

Now she and Rollo turned to her father and the retinue of nobles who accompanied him. They nodded their goodbyes to each of the nobles, and both took special leave of Roland, who had become a friend and comrade to Rollo. 

At last they came to her father. Rollo bowed his head slightly and in words he’d carefully practiced, said, “I will defend Paris and your daughter with my life.”

The king seemed relieved to hear this and nodded back to Rollo before turning to Gisla. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes. Could he really feel such grief after how he’d spoken to her over the past weeks? It seemed he did, for he took her hands in his and held them tightly, saying, “My daughter, I will pray for you.”

Gisla was touched. She squeezed his hands and spoke gently. “I will pray for you as well, Father. Goodbye.”

She thought he would then release her hands, but he clung to them more tightly, and his tears spilled down his cheeks. 

She gripped his hands firmly and said, “Father, you must be strong for the people. They must not see you weep.” She waited as he nodded and began to release her hands. She leaned in and placed a kiss on his cheek, then turned and took Rollo’s arm.

Rollo helped her onto the ship, and they stood together on deck and gave one last salute to the people before Rollo gave the order for the men to begin rowing. The ship glided forward, and with a heavy heart Gisla watched as they left her city.

 

~~

 

Now they stood on the deck of the great ship and looked back as Paris slowly melted away. It was the first time that Gisla had been aboard. He had wanted her to give their maiden voyage good luck. He looked up at the fluttering banner that had been added to the prow of the ship. It had been a great surprise, her gift. Large and colorful, it had three golden lilies against a blue background across the top – the symbol he’d seen on the king’s own banners – and below that, his own wolf emblem that he wore on his tunics, big, black, and fierce, against a red background. Gisla had told him that the lilies were the symbol of royalty in Frankia, that the blue stood for truth and loyalty, and that the red behind his wolf symbolized the strength of the warrior. It warmed him deeply that she would think of it; that she put such time and care into the design; that she would deign to merge their beings into an image such as this.

He watched her nod as she looked around, taking in the shield, rigging, the tent that they would share on deck that night, and the men rowing. 

A flotilla of small boats was accompanying their larger ships; some would travel with them to Rouen, while others only escorted them downriver awhile and would turn back. They were decorated with flags and streamers, like a celebration, though the look on Gisla’s face was too somber for her to be celebrating. Yet Gisla was stoic; that strength that Rollo had admired was with her. As she turned to look at the city one last time before the bend in the river would hide it from sight, he took her arm in his – a formal, yet warm gesture, he hoped. He repeated his wish for them from the night before and prayed silently to Meili for a good journey – now, downriver, and in their future together. 

 

~~

 

[](http://imgur.com/7ZZrPyE)  
_Original fan art by[Laure Demontety.](http://birdy0fly.deviantart.com)_  
  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Historical notes
> 
> Vespers – evening prayer, about 6 p.m. 
> 
> Terce – mid-morning prayer, about 9 a.m.
> 
> Chess – This game is thought to have originated in India and found its way to Europe through three different routes by the 9th century. There is more information about the history of chess [here.](http://history.chess.free.fr/first-european.htm) This site says that game pieces found in the Alsace region of what is today France, are from the 9th-11th centuries, so it could have been played in Frankia in 911 (when Rollo is supposed to have married Gisla).
> 
> Fostering – Children between the ages of 8 and 10, especially boys and sometimes girls, of knightly and noble status would be sent to live with another noble family for a few years to associate with another noble family, and learn some of the skills they would need later in life. I don’t know whether children of palace guards would be fostered, but it seems likely since children of common background would also be apprenticed out to skilled craftsmen to learn a trade at a fairly young age. This appears to be something the Norse did as well. More [here](http://www.ultimatehistoryproject.com/medieval-childhood-the-life-of-william-marshal.html) and [here](http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/daily_living/text/Demographics.htm), Scroll down.
> 
> Heraldry – the symbols on Rollo and Gisla’s banner include the “fleur de lis” or lily, which became a symbol of Frankish and later French royalty because it represented the conversion to Christianity of Gisla’s ancestor, the great king of the Franks, Clovis. Many coats of arms for cities in France include the blue band with three gold lilies across the top. 
> 
> I got the idea for Rollo and Gisla’s coat of arms from the coat of arms for the city of Rouen, which is pictured [here](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/03/Blason_Rouen_76.svg). The lamb is the symbol of St. John. Interestingly, the coat of arms for Paris, which did not come about until much later than this period, has a ship, and the city motto became, “Tossed but not sunk.” You can see it [here.](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/c/ca/Blason_paris_75.svg/931px-Blason_paris_75.svg.png)
> 
> Meili – the Norse god of travel  
>   
> 


	17. The Princess and the Bear in Rouen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which Rollo and Gisla have set up housekeeping and have settled into life in Rouen.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many thanks as always to Swimmingfox for her superb editorial skills. Thanks also to UnderTheSkyline for her story suggestions and beta-reading. And thanks to Windchimed for the very quick turnaround and her eagle-eye on the surface edit. And thanks to Laure for the beautiful fan art.
> 
> To my readers: Thanks for staying with me on this story. I hope your wait is rewarded with this one. Comments are greatly appreciated.  
>   
>   
> [](http://imgur.com/7ZZrPyE)  
>  _Original fan art by[Laure Demontety.](http://birdy0fly.deviantart.com)_  
>   
> 

  
  
~~

 

Gisla stood on the balcony of the great house, overlooking the courtyard of the palace, with the Seine in the distance. She came here in the mornings before prayer to settle her thoughts and prepare for the duties of each day.

It had been nearly a month since she’d stood on this balcony and addressed the people of Rouen upon her arrival here. The Franks had been quietly accepting of their arrival, if not quite enthusiastic. But they had been polite, and as the weeks had gone by, many had begun to greet her warmly, and she had come to feel that it was her city, and they, her people. It had surprised her that she could see any place other than Paris this way.

Rollo had stood by her side that day, listening as she spoke fervently about her hope that the city would grow and prosper, and the people with it. That they were to come to learn to trust their new allies, her husband’s people of the north. Since then the people – his and hers – had come to a cautious acceptance of one another. A few had become true allies after seeing Rollo’s men and Frankish soldiers training or patrolling side by side. Rollo’s men had been given blue tunics like the Franks, and while they still wore much of their own leather garb along with them, the tunics – with miniature versions of the new crest that Gisla had designed for Rollo as devices emblazoned on their chests – had given them a sense of legitimacy among the Frankish people in Rouen.

Soon after arriving, and after securing the perimeter of the house and grounds and the city, Rollo had taken a group of Frankish and Norse men and ridden around the countryside, learning where his borders were, and introducing himself and his men to the people. Sometimes Gisla rode with him and paved the way for acceptance in the countryside. 

When she wasn’t riding out with Rollo, Gisla was busy establishing the household, seeing to the grounds, and, to her heart’s delight, endowing the promised hospital. She had been pleased that Rollo had not forgotten this promise – nor had her father, it seemed, for he had provided funds for this as part of his wedding gift to them, in honor of her mother. When Gisla had learned of this, from the stodgy old minister of finance that the king had sent to help her oversee things in Rouen, Gisla’s resentment of her father had lightened somewhat. She had hardened her heart in those difficult days before she and Rollo had left Paris. Her father had been critical, dictatorial, and distant and despite his tender goodbye to her, she had not entirely forgiven him.

Now, overlooking the city that they had come to rule and were accepted in, she had a little moment of satisfaction. The hospital had been established, had a few patients, with more coming each day, and some already had left with their health greatly improved. She found that she was at peace with her new life.

“Your Highness.”

Gisla was startled at the voice of Herleva. She sighed. It was time to ready herself for the day. “One moment, please.”

Her ladies and servants had adjusted quite well to the move. Well, aside from Ermengarde. She was not her usual cheerful self without her husband. She did her duties well, but without the usual teasing that was so characteristic of her. Gisla was surprised at her own reaction to this. She thought she would be pleased that Ermengarde was more serious. But she found that she missed her lively chatter. And she felt sympathy for the girl, parted from her beloved husband. Gisla had offered that she could stay in Paris, but Ermengarde had protested that she could not give up serving the princess. It would have seemed a punishment to leave her behind. But Gisla did worry about how Ermengarde would do as time went on.

And now just when she was beginning to think about talking with Ermengarde about married life, she did not like to possibly make the girl feel her loss even more by speaking more favorably about her own life.

Gisla turned to go in just as little Pepin came running. “Your Highness, Your Highness!” He bowed low, too low – so sweet and amusing to see – and reported, breathlessly, “Rollo requests your presence to see a horse.”

Gisla smiled indulgently. Rollo had been talking of finding her a more suitable horse than the palfrey that had been sent from Paris for her. 

“ _Lord Rollo_ , Pepin.”

“Yes, Your Highness, beg pardon.”

“You will have to learn to remember this. You are not Halvar who is permitted to speak with such familiarity to his lord.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I will remember. But please hurry, for Ro– err, _Lord_ Rollo said he must leave with the men very soon.”

“Very well, Pepin, I will come along shortly. Please tell him that I will join him in the stable yard before Terce.”

Pepin gave another huge bow and then dashed off without even taking his leave, causing Gisla to have to stifle a giggle even when she should scold. He was trying so hard. And was generally succeeding. He was young, but had learned to be a good little page for their household. He ran errands and carried things for her – or messages to and from Rollo as he was doing now. He seemed to relish it, and daily showed his gratitude to her for fostering him with his affectionate nature and funny little things that he said. She knew that he would have to be trained not to do this later, but for now she found it endearing and hoped that her response was helping him to cope with his grief for the loss of his father. She knew well how he must feel; she was about his age when she’d lost her mother. In her case she still had a father who was affectionate to her, and was surrounded with kind people, particularly Rosamund, who cared for her. She tried to make the boy feel safe and loved, knowing that his situation was different, but that he would grow up to be a valued member of the household, as he was already starting to be.

And it had caused her to see Rollo in a whole new light. She had been surprised to see how much he had committed to fostering Pepin. He had adopted the boy entirely, playing with him, showing him how to use various child-sized versions of their weapons, many of which he made himself, and horsed around with him just as she’d seen him do with the kids of the village. Some days he took the boy with him, and she supposed that he was allowed the freedom to run about with the other boys as Rollo went about his business in the villages. Pepin often came home dirty and at times a bit bruised, which caused her concern, but Rollo brushed her protests aside saying, “He is a boy!” And Pepin seemed to agree, chattering about the games he’d played and the wrestling matches he’d won. Gisla suspected that he’d be nearly as Viking as he was Frankish, and knew she’d have to counter that somewhat as he grew older if he was to be a proper palace guard.

 

~~

 

“Well, Rollo, she’s a beautiful horse. I’m sure your princess will like her.” Halvar was leaning against the wall of the stall as they watched the stable boy curry the animal.

“I hope so.”

“You still think you have to win her? She seems to accept you now – maybe even love you, no?”

Rollo was skeptical. It was true that Gisla was warm and friendly with him most of the time now and they rarely had moments of discord, as they’d had before they’d married. But there was still some veil between them. There was a distance that he felt he couldn’t quite close between them. “I don’t know about that, Halvar. She certainly accepts me and is always respectful – it’s not like before when she scorned nearly everything I did. But I am not sure she has any affection for me.”

“Ah, you must be wrong about that. She seems fond of you. Especially when you are with the boy.”

As if on cue, the boy in question darted into the stable, breathless. He stopped very suddenly, nearly falling over in his zeal to bring his message. He righted himself and bowed. “Lord Rollo, she says she will come very soon. She has to dress.”

Both men burst out laughing, and the boy looked at them with wide eyes. “What is funny?”

Rollo bent to speak to the boy. “I don’t think the princess would like you to say that she was not – dressed when you saw her.”

“Oh! But she was, I mean, she was in her dressing gown. Is that not proper?”

The men laughed again. And Rollo put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You just say, ‘the princess will arrive soon.’”

“Yes, Rollo, err, _Lord_ Rollo.”

Rollo chuckled at the boy’s fumble. “Good. Now you can go and help the stable boy.”

Rollo and Halvar discussed a few more plans for the day, and Halvar left to begin the training with the men.

 

~~

 

A while later Gisla hurried into the stable yard, her guards at her heels. The stables had been in poor repair, but Rollo had overseen the improvements and they were coming along well. Gisla had been surprised at what gusto Rollo had taken to his new life here. Not only had he been securing the palace, village, and surrounding countryside, but he’d also been involved with most of the improvements and daily operations of the palace workings, aside from the house and home arts, and the hospital, of course, which he left completely to Gisla unless she asked his advice. The work to be done seemed to distract from the dread of Ragnar’s impending return.

She found Rollo inside the stable, talking to the stable boy there, trying to explain to him how he wanted a particular stall kept clean and tidy for Her Highness’s new mare. She smiled to herself at this. Rollo seemed more concerned with her fastidiousness than she was. Not that she minded.

“Gisla! There – you are. Come see the – new horse.” 

“So my poor little palfrey is not sufficient? I have done well enough with her so far. And you have said she is spirited.”

“She is _too_ spir-it-ed, I think. She will – drop you.”

“Throw me? I do not think so, but I will see this other horse.” She knew that Rollo worried about her as she rode with him. The countryside was rough and wild in places and while she was a decent rider, she was not expert, for she’d spent most of her days in the city where she could walk or take a litter to most of the places she needed to go. Rollo himself kept a horse that was strong and swift, but docile. When Gisla had asked about it, seeing that he was himself such a fierce warrior and might prefer a fiery stallion, he had shown her the scars she’d once wondered about and explained how he’d gotten them. She had been amazed that he could have survived being trampled by horses and saw it as a testament to his utter strength and will. But she’d pointed out that it wasn’t the horses’ fault that they’d trampled him; no doubt the riders had meant to do him harm. He had only grimaced.

He guided her to the open area further down in the large airy stable to where a shiny black mare was being curried. She smiled and nodded her approval.

“She is lovely. I can see why you wanted her for me.”

“You will look – re-gal on her. And she is – do-cile.” She smiled again at how he wrapped his mouth around the strange words. She secretly admired how well he was learning the language, but did not often tell him – she thought he was becoming a bit vain about it and Father Burchard taught that one must never encourage vanity in others, nor to allow it oneself. 

Pepin had been poking around in the stable and now came to admire the horse with them. “She shines like e-bo-ny.” He said this last word proudly. She had just taught him about that wood when she had read him a passage in her prayer book that used it.

“Yes, she does. The stable boy is keeping her very beautiful.”

“Pepin, go to the – sad-dler now. Tell him the princess is here.” The boy ran off to do Rollo’s bidding. 

“Is something wrong with my saddle? Surely you aren’t having him make a new one.”

“Yes.”

“Is nothing I have good enough?”

“No.” He moved closer to her, letting the horse block them from the view of the stable boy, and putting his arms around her. “Nothing is good – enough – for my princess.”

Gisla blushed a little at his warmth, and glanced about to see if anyone could see them. “But it is not necessary.”

“Yes. He said this – will be – better one. He said – for long rides.” Rollo let his hand slide down her back and for a startled moment she thought he would let it reach her backside. But he stopped and rested it at her waist. He sometimes stepped out of the bounds of propriety, but today seemed to know when to stop. 

“Well, I should not mind a more comfortable saddle.” She gave him a mock frown to keep him in check and pulled away as voices were heard in the stable yard. 

The saddler came in with a saddle with tooled leather stained to a deep crimson red. Gisla could not suppress a gasp of surprise at its sheer beauty. It was very nearly the color of the stone in her ring. She looked from the saddle to Rollo and saw a grin spreading across Rollo’s face. 

“You like it?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes, it is beautiful.” She turned to the saddler to express her appreciation for his work.

Rollo joined her and began to reach for the saddle. “Let us put it on the horse and try it.”

She was tempted, but shook her head. “I don’t have time today. I am on my way to Terce and then to the hospital.” She turned back to him. “You will join me?”

“No, I must see the men and then we go to check the – progress of the – bat-tle-ments – by the river.” He thanked the saddler, who nodded and bowed, and left.

Gisla huffed impatiently. “Rollo, you really should attend prayer services more. The people will think you're not a good Christian.”

“I am _not_ a good Christian,” he said with a devilish smile. “I am a Viking.”

“Rollo. You must become a better Christian or the people will not respect you.”

“They will res-pect me well – enough – when enemies attack.” 

Gisla frowned. “That may be so, but after there is no more war they will expect you to be a good Christian if you want to rule them.”

“I attend mass on Sundays. But not today.”

“Very well, I will go. I would like to take Pepin with me.”

“He prays in the palace with you. It is – enough.”

“But Rollo, he is a Christian. It is right that he would attend prayer services sometimes. And if he is to be a guard, he must get used to being at prayer services – he might accompany me as a guard one day.”

“He has – plen-ty – of time for that. He is only a small boy.”

“But already he is becoming more Viking than Frank. He speaks Norse better than I do.”

“That’s because you don’t prac-tice it. He does.”

“I’ve been very busy at the palace and the hospital.”

“I know. But I need the boy with me today.”

Gisla could not see why, since the boy was too small to be of much use in Rollo’s rounds, but she took a deep breath, mentally saying the words of the serenity prayer that she spoke so often to herself. “Very well then, I will go without him.” She turned and headed for the door. “Goodbye.”

She had only gotten a few steps when strong hands stopped her. 

“Gisla, wait.” He took her by the shoulder and turned her back to him. “Don’t go away – an-gry. I do not want that.”

She softened and gave him a little smile. “I do not either. I am only thinking of your immortal soul.”

“I know.” He bent towards her and touched her nose gently with his. “My – im-mor-tal soul – is safe in your hands.”

She huffed, pulling away slightly. “You know it doesn’t work that way. I cannot save your soul by praying for it. Only you can.”

“But you _will_ pray for it, I am sure.”

She gave him a wry smile. “You know I will.” 

He kissed her lightly on the cheek, then released her, smiling. 

As she went on her way, she was troubled that Rollo took it so lightly that his immortal soul was in danger. But she knew that she could not change his mind so soon after years of believing the things that he did. She would indeed pray for him.

 

~~

 

As Rollo walked from the stables to the training yard and barracks, he mused over Gisla’s words. His _immortal soul_. Did he believe that his soul could go to the Christian Heaven when he still believed firmly in Valhalla, Fólkvangr, and Helgafjell? He disliked that these things sometimes came between him and Gisla. She might be right that he should attend services more, but while he had embraced some of the Christian ideas, he found that he could not truly accept that there could be only one god. And when he stood in the great cathedral listening to the words of the bishop, even with Sinric’s translations, he could not really understand all the doctrine. 

And there was so much to do to prepare for Ragnar’s return. Any great expense of time during daylight hours doing other things made him nervous. 

He arrived at the barracks to find that Halvar had assembled the men – Norse and Frankish – and was already talking to them, with Sinric translating to the Franks. Halvar had been learning Frankish, but had not advanced as quickly as Rollo. He nodded to Halvar to go on. He was trying to convince some of the newer Franks who had joined them from the Rouen region that the alliance of both groups made them stronger.

“We have an advantage. Because we have a large number of men who know Norse ways, we can train as if it is a real siege. We Norse of Rouen can show you all the ways that the returning northmen may attack, so that you can train against them.”

One of the Franks spoke up. “How will we know them apart? How will we not kill ‘the Norse of Rouen’ as you call them?” The man said this menacingly. Rollo knew he had a road ahead of him to convince the Franks that this was a true alliance. He listened as Halvar continued.

“Our men will dress like you; do you have trouble telling your own men from enemies? During the training, we will dress as Norse, but wear a blue sash to remind you that we are only practicing.”

Some of the Franks turned to one another and mumbled to each other. A few sounded convinced; others grumbled. 

Halvar gave Rollo a pointed look, and Rollo came to the front to speak. Halvar nodded, and giving him a relieved look, stepped aside.

Rollo spoke in Frankish, occasionally asking Sinric for help with some words. “I know it is hard to – believe that a true – al-liance – has been made. But you have heard the words my wife, the Princess Gisla, daughter of the emperor, has made when we spoke to you – weeks ago. I–” He bent to Sinric to ask for the word. “I – as-sure – you that you can – count on my loyalty and that of all my men. For better or worse, I have been – granted – lord-ship of this land, and I as-sure you, I want it to be for the better.”

He surveyed the men after this rather difficult speech and saw many of them nodding. He knew that his struggle to master their language was paying off. Why would a foreigner bother to learn the language if he were only going to turn the place over to his marauding brother? 

Asking Sinric to translate, he spoke even more seriously, then allowed his tone to turn light. He spoke of duty and dedication. He found himself addressing the concerns that the Franks had of the difference in their religions, assuring them that being of different faiths can benefit them. “While you worship and relax as you celebrate your Christian holidays, the Norse can be completely on guard. And you can do the same while the Norse celebrate their days. And when they overlap, well, you may take turns amongst yourselves.”

“And you, Lord Rollo? Which holidays will you celebrate?” 

Rollo gave the bold Frank a fierce look, then, allowed it to melt into a smile. “Why, all of them of course. I would not offend any of you – or my wife.”

All the men laughed uproariously at this, and a few cheers of support went up, soon catching on until most of the men in the company were applauding him. 

He lifted his hand to silence them once more, giving a look to Sinric to signal that he needed translation. “But whatever celebrations we make, we have one thing in common. We never let our guard down, not truly. The watchtowers and trees will be manned; the signal fires will be made ready and runners will be prepared to light them at short notice. We defend Rouen, Paris, and all the surrounding region. Together.”

The men nodded firmly, then Rollo gave the dismissal order – in both languages – to the men, and they began their practice. He was encouraged that despite the men’s grousing, the Franks took to the exercises and seemed avid to train. Perhaps they were only looking forward to actually killing some of the invaders, but for now Rollo was hopeful. He prayed to Týr that these men would hold up against Ragnar’s men. 

 

~~

 

Gisla had visited the hospital every day when she wasn’t riding with Rollo. The priest at the hospital was troubled because a new sort of epidemic was bringing many ill patients to them.

One afternoon, upon returning to the palace, Gisla found Rollo waiting for her. “You have returned early, husband.”

“Yes. I want to speak to you.” 

“Of course.” They walked onto the balcony together, as they often did. “What is it?” She saw the tension in his eyes. “Have ships been sighted?”

He shook his head emphatically. “No, I would have – sent word – of that. I wish to speak of the hospital.”

“Oh?”

“They say that the – plague is worse. Halvar says people in the village are ill.”

“Yes, it is true. More are coming to the hospital and we have had to have pallets made for them.”

“Gisla, I want you to – stay away from the hospital. Until the – plague – passes.”

“Stay away? But the people – they expect me there.”

“You could grow ill.”

“God will protect me. All during the siege of Paris I went among the people and I did not become ill.”

“Why does God not protect the people? Why do they grow ill and you do not?”

Gisla did not answer for a moment. “God is very mysterious. We cannot know His ways.”

Rollo shook his head impatiently. “The sickness is mys-te-ri-ous too. Some grow ill and some do not.”

Gisla said nothing. She knew he was right, but she could not agree with his position. She grew petulant. “But the hospital was my morning gift. You promised.”

He looked at her incredulously. “I kept my promise – we made the hospital as soon we came here, did we not?”

She pursed her lips. Of course he was right. “Yes. But if I do not go they will think me a coward.”

“They will think you – wise. And they will not want their – pa-tro-ness to grow ill. You can send someone else.”

Gisla flashed with anger. “Would you send someone else to lead your battle?”

“That is different. A man must lead in battle. Gisla, please, I want you not to go.”

She felt her temper rising and struggled to control it. “Do you _forbid_ me?

“For-bid?”

“Not allow. Do you _order_ me not to go?”

Rollo’s eyes grew dark. “Order you? You are my _wife_ , I do not _order_ you, I _ask_ you. Is a husband not to – protect his wife? Will you not do it – because I care for you? For your – safety?”

She stared at him, her feelings in tumult. “I promised to go tomorrow. The bishop is coming and we are to make a prayer together for the health of the people.”

Rollo was silent. She knew he was angry with her.

She thought carefully, trying to find a way to make a concession. She spoke again, calmly. “Perhaps I can go to the hospital, but not go among the people. We can make the prayer and I will announce that I will go to the chapel and pray there for those who cannot come to the hospital. Will that not do?”

Rollo shook his head in frustration. “I – sup-pose – it must, since you will not listen. Do not forget to pray for yourself.” He turned and walked away.

Now Gisla grew angry herself. She called after him, “You will understand these things one day when you are a better Christian.” 

He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head as he stalked off into the palace.

Gisla stood there staring after him. Her anger dissipated and was replaced with distress and some remorse. She was troubled that she’d angered and disappointed him, but she was upset that he couldn’t understand the importance of her being at the hospital to help lead prayer for deliverance from the plague. 

She went to the edge of the balcony and gazed out over the city. She wondered if there would ever be a time when there was peace and contentment here. With the continuing threat of strife among the people, the spread of the plague, and the ever-heightening threat of Ragnar’s return, there seemed always to be trouble looming. She wished it did not include strife between her and her husband.

She made her ever-repeated prayer for serenity and turned to go inside to set about her palace duties for the evening.

 

~~

 

More than a week had passed and Gisla had continued to go to the hospital. Not every day, for some days she still rode out with him, and one day had sat with him to hear cases of the people who had disputes. But often enough. Rollo supposed that she kept her promise to go only to the chapel there, but it still bothered him that she was as the hospital at all. She should keep away from the sick. From what he’d learned from Sinric, patrons of hospitals and orphanages did not usually visit them so often and rarely went among the sick. He had admired her for her close association with her people, but now he wished she would do otherwise. He knew it was partially selfish, but he also wondered how he would continue as lord here without her. He had agreed to the treaty as much for the marriage to Gisla as for the promise of lordship and land.

Things had been a little more distant between them since their argument on the balcony. She was polite and respectful to him, but the little affection that may have been growing between them seemed to have chilled. Every time he thought of trying to remedy this, he realized that he could not change his concern for her health and knew that she would not change her views on her duty to the hospital.

One morning Rollo had awakened when Gisla had risen to use the privy. She had been gone longer than usual and he had just started to wonder when he heard her moaning. Alarmed, he rose quickly and went into the privy closet and found her leaning over the privy hole, retching. He went to her, pulled her hair back from her face, and held her gently as she finished. He helped her to a chair, and got her a damp cloth to bathe her face, then brought her a glass of wine and bade her to drink.

“I can’t.”

“Just a little. It – makes your mouth better.”

She sipped a bit of the wine, gave him a weak smile, and then sat there looking miserable. He did not have the heart to say, _I told you so_ , but wished to Odin that she had listened to him. How sick was she? Would he lose her?

“Come. You must rest.” He helped her to her feet and walked her back to bed. 

As she settled back on the bed, he covered her with the sheets and stroked her head gently. He sat with her for some time until he thought she was asleep. But then she whispered, “You are so kind to me.”

“Of course. You are my wife.”

“But I am not always so kind to you.” 

He knew she was recalling their argument about her going to the hospital. “You are not unkind.” _Stubborn, but not unkind_. He stroked her hair, her cheek. He was about to leave, when her voice came again softly. 

“I’m sorry.”

He was filled with warmth; she cared that he might be hurt by her actions or words. “I forgive you,” he murmured, pleased that he knew this expression. He saw that she was nearly in tears, whether from the misery of being ill or from emotion at his words, he didn’t know, but he patted her hand as he rose, saying regretfully, “I must leave – the men expect me, but I will send Rosamund.”

He found Rosamund, expressed his concern about Gisla, and the woman hurried to check on her. Rollo frowned. If Rosamund was concerned, it might indeed be something to worry about. He wondered if he should send for the healer from the village or even the healer priest from the hospital. But he knew that Rosamund would take charge, and inform him if he was needed. 

As he went on his way to the training yard, Halvar was coming to meet him. “You did not come. The men were wondering.”

“Sorry. Gisla is ill.” 

“Ah, Rollo, I’m sorry. What is the trouble?”

“She seems to have what the others have – the people in the hospital. This plague they speak of.”

Halvar grimaced. “Is she bad?”

“I don’t know. She vomited. She is resting.” His jaw clenched and he felt his anger rise. “I told her not to go there while there was so much sickness. Why did she not listen?”

Halvar seemed hesitant to answer. He shook his head. “Women have minds of their own, no?” 

Rollo nodded grimly.

“Well, no one but a very old man has died of it yet. And she is strong and healthy otherwise, is she not?” He clapped Rollo on the shoulder. “We will pray to Eir for her quick recovery.”

“Yes, thank you, Halvar. We will.” He hoped Halvar’s optimism was well founded. He did not know what he’d do if something happened to Gisla.

 

~~

 

Rosamund came and sat beside the bed, sewing in the chair while Gisla rested. She called for bread and wine and made Gisla eat a little. After a time, Gisla started to feel a little better and talked about getting up and going about her day.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You are ill. You must rest.”

“But I feel better now. Just as I did before.”

“Before? What do you mean? Have you been feeling this way for long?”

Gisla realized that she’d slipped. She hadn’t meant to admit that she’d felt this way for a few days. “I’ve been like this, but not so bad, for a day or two.”

“Why didn’t you say so? We could have tended you or sent for the healer.”

“I didn’t want to worry you – or Rollo. Or, well, admit that I must have gotten ill from being at the hospital when Rollo was already worried about me going there.”

“Oh, child, you mustn’t hide such things.” She patted Gisla’s hand and sat back in her chair. 

Gisla watched as the woman seemed to be pondering something. “What is it?”

Rosamund looked at Gisla sharply. Then she laid her hand on Gisla’s forehead as she’d done earlier. “You don’t seem to have the fever that the others have. Perhaps you don’t have this plague. When did you last have your courses?”

The room seemed to spin around her as Gisla realized what Rosamund meant. She could be _with child_. “It – it has been since…about two weeks after the wedding.”

Rosamund smiled broadly. “Oh, my dear, how could we have forgotten to watch for this? With your being in the village, and then the move here, and all the work of arranging things in the palace, I did not even think.”

“Nor did I.” Gisla had pushed it from her mind. Her courses had come in the days after the assassination attempt, and while she had been relieved then that she did not have to think about a child yet, her attention had been on finding and capturing the culprit, so she’d been almost grateful to push this from her mind. But now she could no longer deny it. “So, I am – with child?” 

“It is possible, isn’t it? You have done all the right things, have you not?” 

Gisla blushed. “Yes, of course.” She thought of those first nights of discomfort and duty, and then the later ones of pleasure and guilt. And now she would bear fruit of all of that. The reality of this came crashing down on her. There was no turning back now. Not that there ever was, really, but somehow the bearing of a child made things all the more final, the ultimate proof sealing their union. It made her stomach tighten to think of it – and of the discomfort she would face in the weeks and months to come. “How long will I be ill?”

Rosamund looked thoughtful. “Usually only for a few weeks. We will call for the midwife and let her look at you and tell you more.”

The midwife was summoned, made her examination, and pronounced that all the signs were there. Gisla was with child. 

Rosamund was elated. “Oh, my darling, how exciting. Your mother would be so glad for you.”

Gisla thought of how her mother had died and wondered if she would be so very glad. But most women birthed their babies and survived to raise them, so there was no reason to think that she should be different, God willing. And Rosamund and the midwife reassured her, saying that she was strong and healthy and would surely give birth to a healthy child as well.

But Gisla could not help feeling overwhelmed. _With child_. Could it really be? She clutched again at her stomach as a wave of nausea overcame her – she did not know if it was from the news of being with child, or being with child itself. She took deep breaths to try to calm herself. And prayed. She knew she should be feeling joy or gratitude to God for blessing her so soon with a child. But all she could feel was doubt. 

She knew that it was important that she bear an heir for Rollo, and she had imagined that one day she would be a mother. But raising a child with a man who was still half heathen? A man she respected as a leader and who had shown her kindness, but whom she could not quite love? She gave a silent prayer that God would bring her understanding and acceptance of this momentous turn of events.

 

~~

 

Rollo came back to the palace as soon as he could that day. He was troubled that Gisla was ill. He prayed that Halvar was right and that she would recover quickly as some people had. He looked to the servants in the lower hall, but they went quietly about their business as usual, and he knew that nothing terrible could have happened. When he asked Rosamund, she gave him an enigmatic look and said, “Go to her and see for yourself.”

As he entered their rooms, he was surprised to see that Gisla was sitting by the fireplace, working on some sewing. “Gisla, you are better?”

She looked up and gave him a shy smile. “Yes, husband.” He supposed she was still embarrassed by this morning’s incident in the privy. “Come, sit beside me.”

He could not understand why she smiled so. But he was encouraged by her warmth, so he went to sit beside her. 

She set aside her sewing. “The healer came today. She said that I am not really ill.”

He was relieved. “You are – recovered – so quickly?”

“Yes – no.” She smiled down at her hands. “I will be this way for a little while.” 

He gazed at her in confusion. “But–”

She looked up with a tremulous smile. “It seems that I am with child.”

“With – child?” For one long moment, he did not quite understand. Then suddenly he realized what that expression must mean. “ _With child_ – you will have a child?” At her nod, he exclaimed, “Ah, Gisla, this is good news!” A flurry of images flashed through his head – playing with Ragnar’s children, fleeting hopes with Siggy, and the seer’s words. Indeed, he felt like dancing. 

Leaping to his feet, he took her hands in his, and drew her out of her chair. He would have spun her around in a mad dance of joy, but the queasy look on her face stilled him. He embraced her instead, clasping her to him as fiercely as he dared. “You make me so happy.” 

He kissed her gently on the cheek, then guided her back to her chair, and turning to sit in it himself, drew her down onto his lap. He hugged her to his chest, savoring this moment. He would be a _father_. 

A sudden thought excited him, and he pulled back from her to see her face. “When?”

“What? Oh, the midwife says at the end of the summer, most likely.”

“Good, that is good.” He mentally counted backwards to think of when she must have conceived. But he was too overjoyed to think clearly. “But when, umm, was it – started?”

Gisla blushed, and he laughed. But she managed to answer, speaking hesitantly. “I think when we were in the village.”

“Yes? Maybe the first night?” His excitement grew.

“Maybe. I don’t think we can know.”

He chuckled and pressed her close to him again. “No, but I will – always – think so.”

She nodded.

He whispered his joy into her ear and squeezed her happily. 

“Rollo, go gently please. Remember my stomach.”

He loosened his arms and set her back carefully against his shoulder. “Of course. Is there nothing – to do to feel better?”

“Yes, the midwife said if I eat some bread before I rise, I may not get so sick.”

“Eat in bed? Good, I will bring food and we will both eat in the morning.”

Gisla laughed. “Of course you would want to eat in bed too.” She shook her head at him.

He pressed her to him again, though more calmly. Then another thought occurred to him. “Gisla, are you happy? About the child?” Rollo hoped she would be as happy as he was.

She did not answer right away. But then she spoke quietly. “I am not sure that I am ready to be a mother.”

“But you will be a good mother.”

“I don’t know. But you will be good father, I am sure of that.”

“You are?” Another rush of joy washed over him. She thought he would be a good father to their child. That had to mean she felt more warmly towards him than he’d thought, didn’t it?

“Of course. I see how you are with all the children, especially Pepin.” 

“Ah, yes, but children are so–” He didn’t know how to say uncomplicated. “Simple. They have no plans, no – mo-tives. They just _are_. I can be – myself with them. So I love them.”

“Yes, that is true. Well, they love _you_ , that is certain.”

“They love you too. They smile and come to you.”

“But I am their patroness, of course they must.”

“Yes, but they do more than that. They – admire – you, love you. You are a mother to them all. And to Pepin. You will be a _good_ mother.”

She smiled then and he hugged her close to him. Together they would love this child and perhaps, in loving his child, she would come to love him. His mind reeled with jubilation. He thanked Freyja for this wondrous gift.

 

~~

 

[](http://imgur.com/VzHuxsG)

_Original fan art by[Laure Demontety.](http://birdy0fly.deviantart.com)_  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>   
>  Historical Notes
> 
> Horseback riding -- While I didn’t include much about Gisla riding, I wanted pictures to illustrate this. I thought these illuminations of a woman riding astride were lovely. The first might be Gisla with her hair veiled. It is interesting to see the second woman wearing her hair loose. There are many drawings and illuminations showing women riding astride, so it appears that this was common. There were others that had women riding aside (sidesaddle) as well, so apparently both were common.
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/n61jgCu)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> More information about women riding in the Middle Ages is [here.](http://www.larsdatter.com/women-horseback.htm)
> 
> Ebony – The use of ebony is mentioned in the Bible as in “ebony sky” and was imported to Tyre during Biblical times, so I presumed that the Frankish court could have items of ebony. More information [here.](http://biblehub.com/topical/e/ebony.htm)
> 
> Eir – The Norse goddess of healing. More information [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eir)
> 
> Freyja – The Norse goddess of fertility (among other things). More information [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Freyja)
> 
> Valhalla, Fólkvangr, and Helgafjell – ideas of the afterlife appearing in West Norse sources. Valhalla was for those chosen by Odin, Fólkvangr was for those chosen by Freyja, and Helgafjell, was where non-warriors would go. More [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_in_Norse_paganism)
> 
> Týr – The Norse god of war, particularly hand-to-hand combat. More [here.](https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tyr)  
>   
> 


	18. The Princess and Bear and the Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which Gisla struggles to come to terms with her pregnancy and Rollo deals with a setback and a potential threat.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many thanks to Swimmingfox for her always superb editorial skills. Thanks also to UnderTheSkyline for her story feedback. And thanks to Windchimed for the very quick turnaround and her eagle-eye on the surface edit.  
>   
> I thrive on feedback, so comments of all lengths are very welcome!  
>   
>   
> [](http://imgur.com/pKpz9Zb)

  
~~

 

Several weeks had passed, and Rollo was pleased to see that Gisla was finally feeling better. Once he knew what her illness was, he had relaxed and found himself filled with hope about the future. He was happy to rise each morning to bring the food that the servants had delivered to their room to Gisla’s side. It was a pleasant time in the morning with his wife. 

And he’d received happy congratulations from his men. Halvar even took some credit for it – he had joked about it being “all the mushrooms’ fault.” Rollo smiled to think of it. Perhaps it was. Sinric had been quietly congratulatory, offering his services to Gisla while she was ill. He would come to her in the sitting room and tell her stories of his travels to distract her from her sour stomach. And little Pepin had fallen all over himself trying to bring her every sort of treat and offering to play tafl games or chess with her constantly. Rollo had had to keep the boy occupied with tasks outside with the men to give Gisla a chance to rest.

Now Rollo headed to their rooms to bring some letters that the royal courier had delivered to him while he was down at the riverfront. He knew that Gisla would welcome them, as she’d been awaiting her father’s response to her letter bearing their news.

He found her at the table in their sitting area, eating a late breakfast. Rosamund had encouraged her to eat several small meals instead of the usual two large ones, to help prevent her sickness. 

“I am glad to see you eat better. You were getting thinner when you should be getting fatter.” Rollo gave Gisla a teasing look and nudged her arm.

She shot him a look that he knew was only mock anger. “I will get fat soon enough. Then you will be sorry you wanted me to eat so much.”

“I am never sorry when people eat enough!” He saw that Gisla could not help smiling at that. He knew that she’d seen enough hunger during the siege to appreciate when people were well fed. “I bring you letters. The cou-ri-er came this morning.”

“Thank you.” A smile of anticipation spread across her face.

She rifled through them one by one, setting aside some official-looking ones from the various ministers regarding palace business, and came to one that made her face light up in a way that he loved to see. “Ah, it is from Clotild. I had written to her about the child. No doubt she is very happy.” She lingered on that letter, and he could see that she longed to open it first, but then she moved it away, her hand hovering over the next letter, which he could see had the royal seal on it. She reluctantly set her friend’s letter down and picked up the other.

“What is it?”

“A letter from my father.”

“Finally.” He knew she had been waiting, wondering why the king did not write. “What does he say?”

Rollo watched as she carefully broke the seal and smoothed out the parchment, and he looked over her shoulder as she began to read silently. He was fascinated with the curves and lines of the written word, and he wondered if he could devise a way to put Norse into writing.

She looked up. “He congratulates us on the child.”

Rollo nodded. “Good. It took him long enough. Does writing a letter take so long?”

She shook her head and read on. He wished she’d read it aloud, but he’d learned that letters were considered private things sometimes, so he waited, watching. A frown crossed her face. 

“What else does he say?”

She pursed her lips. “He is in negotiations.”

“Nego-tiations?”

“Talks. Marriage talks.”

“He will marry?” There were no other children for the king to marry off, so it must be for himself.

“So it seems.”

“This troubles you?” He looked closely at her face, wondering what had made her frown. Did she think her father dishonored her mother? But it was so long ago. 

“Not really. I had told him years ago that he should remarry. It is the timing that bothers me. It seems he waited until I was with child. I am sure his ministers are advising that he marry and make an heir.”

“Why would he do that now? What does our child have to do with that?”

“His ministers may advise him that if our child is a boy, he may grow to become the heir.”

“What is – wrong with that? He is your child.”

“Yes, but they will want him to have only Frankish blood.”

“Ah.” Of course, to them he was always foreign. “And you? Do you agree with this?”

“No.” She shook her head sadly. “But it doesn’t matter what I think.” 

“It matters to me.” He kissed the top of her head and caressed her cheek. “And our child will one day rule Rouen. That is enough.”

She nodded and smiled up at him. 

He reached for her friend’s letter that she’d set aside. “Here, read this one so you will stay smiling.” He kissed her again as he put the letter in her hand. “I must go. The men will be waiting.” 

 

~~

 

Gisla stared after Rollo for a few moments, pondering the difference in their feelings about the baby. He seemed happy all the time since she’d told him the news. She glanced down at the letter in her hand. Dear Clothild, full of joy and news about the marvels of her baby. Gisla wondered if she could possibly feel the same. She wondered what was wrong with her. Was she not a proper woman? 

She set aside the letters and went to her prie-dieu to pray. “Father in Heaven, please grant me serenity in this matter of the child. I want to submit to your will in all things. Help me to accept your will in this.”

Her ladies came in and Ermengarde scolded her for praying yet again, and Rosamund said she shouldn’t be on her knees so much because of the child. Herleva saw the letters and exclaimed, “Is there news from Clothild?”

So Gisla rose and let the women fuss over her, and opened and shared her letter with them. She had predicted correctly that it was full of joyful congratulations on the coming child. The ladies were pleased to hear of Clothild’s son, who was old enough to sit up and play with simple toys. And they were delighted to hear of Clothild’s hope that one day their children would be friends. Ermengarde showed a little of her usual spirit by exclaiming, “Perhaps you will have a girl and she may one day marry little Remi.” 

Gisla smiled indulgently at the women’s predictions. “I will be content simply to see Clothild again very soon. But I doubt that it will be in the near future.” The other doubts that had been plaguing her returned to her as well.

Rosamund must have seen that Gisla was troubled, for she assigned the other women to lay out Gisla’s clothes and prepare her bath. Then she sat with Gisla at the table.

“My dear, you are still troubled about the child?”

“I cannot understand why I am so different from other women. Clothild was so thrilled when she discovered that she was with child. I know I should welcome it. But I find that I cannot.”

Rosamund patted Gisla’s hand comfortingly. “I believe that you will in time. Perhaps you are thinking too much about it. Now that you are feeling better, you can go about more of your duties in the household. See to the planning of the chapel, the planting of the gardens. Read the books that you brought from Paris.”

 _See to the administration of the hospital_ , Gisla thought. She did not dare suggest that again, for she knew both Rosamund and Rollo would frown upon it. But Rosamund was right, there was much to do in the palace that Gisla should see to. She took a deep breath and allowed Rosamund to lead her into the bathroom to start her bath.

 

~~

 

That evening, as Rollo lay beside Gisla, trying to fall asleep, he felt a great desire to be close to her again.  
He had not pressed her for the past several weeks as she’d been feeling ill most of each day. But tonight she seemed to be better and he longed to lie with her.

As he slid his hands along her still-slim body, she stiffened slightly. He pulled away, wanting to see her face. “I thought you were feeling better.”

“I was. I am. But it does not mean that we can do this.”

“Why not?”

“It is not proper.”

“To want to lie with you when you are with child?” He moved closer to her again. “What is not proper about it?”

“The Church teaches that relations are only for procreation. I am already with child, so there is no need to lie together.”

“We cannot lie together – all the time you are with child?” He raised himself up to look at her in the dim light.

“And for forty days after it is born.”

“And forty days? That makes – half a year!” 

“Yes.”

Rollo just stared at her, incredulous. They had no such rules in Kattegat. “And Frankish men, they – wait all this time?”

“It is what the church teaches. I suppose they obey.” Her voice had gone very low.

“It is a very long time.”

She was very quiet. “And it may harm the child.”

“No. That is not so. This I know.”

“How do you know? You said you had no children.”

“I don’t. But men talk. Men in Kattegat – they did not wait all that time. And they had many strong children.” He shook his head. 

Gisla was silent. 

“Gisla, of course we will be careful. I would not want to harm the child. When you get bigger, I will not press you. But nothing has changed much. It should not be – uncomfortable for you yet.”

“It is not about being comfortable. It is about being pure and holy while the child grows.”

Rollo looked at her impatiently. “I don’t understand your ways. They make no sense.”

“I am sorry. But it is what the church teaches. What can I do?”

He shook his head. “Just go to sleep.”

She nodded slowly and turned on her side away from him. 

Rollo tried to sleep, but was bothered by the idea of this strange custom that he must be chaste with his wife for months to come. As he turned once more to try to go to sleep, he heard a slight sob from Gisla. “Gisla, what is wrong?” 

She sniffed and he could see that she wiped her eyes with her hand. “Nothing.”

He turned to her and pulled her onto her back so he could see her face. “I have made you weep.”

She drew her hand over her face and shook her head. “I never weep.”

“You weeped on our wedding day. And night.”

“ _Wept_. But I did not mean to weep then either.” She sniffed again, and he could tell that she was trying to stifle sobs. “I don’t know what is wrong with me. I am like a child.”

He sighed and smiled. “No, you are _with_ child. Pregnant women sometimes cry.” He recalled Ragnar saying this about Aslaug. Though he could not imagine the dignified Aslaug weeping. She did not even weep when she told him of Siggy’s death. 

“How do you know such things?”

“My brother has had six children. I was with his family often.”

She turned her face away from him. Her voice was strangled. “I only want to do what is right. I want to please God and please you. But how can I when what God asks and what you ask are so different?”

“I don’t know.” He understood her dilemma, and yet had no answer. But he knew that sometimes when a pregnant woman was troubled, the child would be too. And he recalled Ragnar going to much trouble to bring back fresh venison when Aslaug craved it, and knew what he must do. “I am not angry, just disappointed. I don’t want you to be upset. I will try to abstain. Let us sleep now.” He could see her nodding in the candlelight and she turned toward him. He drew her onto his shoulder as they’d grown accustomed to, and kissed her forehead. “This is allowed, I hope?”

“Yes,” she whispered, and he could feel her body relax against him. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He resisted a sigh, not wanting to worry her. But he sent up a prayer to Frigg, for patience and self-restraint, fully aware of the irony of his doing so when Gisla had asked him to be more like a Christian. 

 

~~

 

The next morning, Gisla went to the cathedral to attend Terce, and arranged to speak to Archbishop Franco after the service. The archbishop had invited her into his study, where they could speak privately. He congratulated her on her good tidings and offered her a chair.

“Your Highness, how may I assist you? A blessing on the child?”

“No – err, yes, please, of course. But there is another matter as well.”

“Indeed, please speak freely.” 

She hesitated. The archbishop was looking at her patiently, if not a little curiously. “It is a confidential matter. A personal one.”

“Of course, but not something for the confessional?”

“There is nothing to confess. Yet.”

The archbishop raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

Gisla looked down, took a deep breath, and began. “Your Grace, it is the issue of marital relations.”

“Ah, I see. They have not ceased since it is known that you are with child?”

“Yes, they have, well, since I have been ill. Lord Rollo has been most considerate.”

“Well, then, it as it should be. But now?”

“Since I have started feeling better, my husband would like to resume relations.” Gisla continued to look at her hands, embarrassed to speak of such things to the archbishop, but knowing that it was from him she must seek dispensation.

“You have told him of the Church’s disapproval of such practice?”

“Of course. I explained it carefully.”

“And he insists.”

“He does not insist, but he is very unhappy about it. It is not the custom where he is from.”

“But he is a Christian now. He must follow Christian customs now.”

Gisla hesitated. She did not wish to make Rollo seem more pagan that he was, but knew that he felt strongly about this. She took another breath, this time daring to look up at the archbishop. “Your Grace, he has taken many Christian customs in marital relations. He observes the Sabbath, and the holy days – he has made no objection to abstinence then.”

The archbishop nodded. “Ah, he has adapted well so far. But you fear that his patience may have worn thin.”

“He was very upset that we might not…resume until so long after the child comes.”

“So you fear that he may stray. Of course, a temptation with which many a better man may struggle.”

Gisla was shocked. She had not thought of this until the archbishop suggested it. But if Rollo could not lie with her, would he find another woman? She could not bear the thought. But he had sworn vows to her – and she believed that he meant them, whatever God or gods he believed in. “I believe that he wants to remain true to our marriage vows. But he finds it strange to have to wait so long.”

“Is he not concerned with the protection of the child?”

“Yes, very much so. So much that he has asked that I do not resume my visits to the hospital.”

“Ah, good, good. Well, then, that is what you must tell him.”

“Your Grace, I have done so. But he says that in his country couples do not cease relations until very close to when a child comes. That their children are born healthy despite it. I was unable to convince him otherwise.”

“I see. Their ways are very different. Let me pray on this. Please, pray with me.” And he spoke a prayer for guidance in difficult matters. 

Gisla prayed silently, attempting to quell the growing uneasiness in her stomach.

After several long minutes in which the archbishop also prayed silently, he spoke solemnly. “Your Highness, I believe that God will approve of the resumption of marital relations with you and Lord Rollo. The Heavenly Father understands that for new converts, certain customs may take time to accept. And there is the need to avoid greater sin. I grant you dispensation in this matter. You will, of course, observe the customs you have already been following.”

“Of course.”

“And the forty days after the birth.”

“Yes, I’m sure he will agree to that.”

“Good. Then go with God, Your Highness.” He spoke a prayer of blessing over her and for the child, easing her mind and soul. Her stomach was not quite so easily relieved, it seemed. 

As she was returning to the palace, it occurred to her that she had not remembered to ask the archbishop about helping her quell her doubts about the child. But perhaps it was just as well since he might already think it much too unorthodox to have asked for dispensation. How could she confess to him her doubts as well?

 

~~

 

Rollo spent most of the day helping to build the defense walls that were going up around the city. He knew that he didn’t have to do the actual physical labor, but sometimes he needed that sort of work to clear his mind. Since the news of the child had come, he had been filled with an even greater fever to be ready for Ragnar’s return. The weather here was still cold and rainy, with even a little snow now and then, so he knew that it was too soon for Ragnar to be returning. But spring would be here soon enough, and he could not let go of the need to be prepared. 

He returned later than usual to the palace and found that Gisla had waited with his supper in their sitting room. Though she had eaten earlier, she sat with him as he ate and he told her of the progress of the wall and the other defenses that he’d surveyed that day. He found that she was always interested when he told her about his doings during the day, and asked many questions and made suggestions about the defenses of the surrounding area. 

But tonight she seemed more subdued than usual. Rollo supposed it was because of their disagreement the night before. He had thought about that during the day and had come to a realization. From the time he’d left for Wessex until his marriage night, he had not been with a woman. That was many more months than the time she wished him to wait. It was different, he knew, for he had been mourning for Siggy during much of that time and had felt so much guilt over his treatment of her that he had not sought a woman’s comfort. He had had no desire. All he had wanted was a chance to distinguish himself in battle, to die gloriously, and enter Valhalla. 

Now he was married and only desired his lovely wife. He had never felt quite this way before. But strangely enough, he felt that he could wait, to please her. He wanted to make her happy. And perhaps waiting was a way to make it much more desirable when it was time to lie together again. Almost like a new wedding night?

Gisla spoke suddenly. “I went to Terce today.”

Rollo looked up from his plate. “Ah, good. You felt well enough?”

“Yes. And I spoke with the archbishop.” 

“Hmm, about what?” He mouthed this around a bite of chicken.

“I asked him for dispensation. And he granted it.” There was something in her voice that made him look up.

“What is that?”

“Dispensation – permission.” 

He looked at her blankly. 

She looked down at her hands. “To resume relations while I am with child.” She looked back up shyly.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You spoke of _that_ with the archbishop?”

“Yes. He is the head of the Church here. He is the one who could grant it.” 

“Why did you not tell me that you would do this?”

She looked bewildered. “I – I did not think you would object. I was only trying to do what you wanted.” 

“Now he will think that I am more of a barbarian than ever. That I cannot keep myself from my wife as Frankish men do.”

“But I told him that you have been observant of other Christian customs. He said that was admirable.”

“Then why did he grant this? Because I am Lord here? Because you are the princess?”

Gisla furrowed her brow. “Perhaps, partly. But mainly because you are foreign. Unused to such customs.”

“Of course, as I thought. He thinks I am a barbarian.”

“And to…to avoid greater sin.”

“Greater sin?”

She lowered her eyes, and her voice. “Adultery.” 

“What is that?”

She shifted as if uncomfortable, then whispered, “Lying with another woman.”

“You think I would do that?” In truth, many men in Kattegat had concubines and their wives were sometimes not even bothered by it, but he had never considered that he might do so. He wanted only her. He was insulted that she would think this of him.

She shook her head emphatically. “No. I do not. But the archbishop supposed–”

“ _Supposed_. He thinks I am an animal.”

“I told him that I believed that you would keep your marriage vows.”

“And do you? Really?”

A fiery look came into her eyes. “Yes. I have believed it since you made them on our wedding day.”

He was surprised. Had she really believed he was sincere as soon as that? “You have?”

“Yes. I saw it in your eyes. I did not really understand it yet – I didn’t know you. But it seemed to me that you meant it.”

“I did. I do.” 

“Then please, don’t be angry.” She leaned in and dropped her voice. “The archbishop will not tell anyone. It is private.”

Rollo saw the troubled look in her eyes, heard the tremble in her voice, just as he had last night. He knew that she had meant well, and it touched him that she would go to the trouble of trying to get this “dispensation” for them. He also knew that she would probably prefer not to resume relations – while he had made her enjoy them, he did not think she desired them herself. He sighed. “It is all right.”

She studied his face for a few moments until he smiled at her and reached across the table to take her hand. As he squeezed it, she gave a sigh of relief and her face relaxed. 

They finished their meal in companionable silence. When he finished, he rose to prepare himself for bed. 

When he returned and went to enter the bedchamber, he realized that Gisla was praying at the prie-dieu. He held back at the door, feeling that he might intrude. But he could not help hearing that she was praying in a pleading manner. Then he caught the words, “help me to welcome the child as I should” and “make me submissive to your will.” Rollo knew that she had had doubts, but that had been several weeks ago. Was she still so unsure about the child? Or was it him? He returned to the sitting area and waited until he heard the little creak of the wood that the prie-dieu made when she rose, then headed into the room. 

Gisla was just settling into the bed when he came in. He smiled at her, still wondering what she really felt. But he got into bed and tried to sleep. He did not think that she slept either; her breathing was not the steady breaths of sleep.

After a little while, he could stand it no longer. “Gisla.”

“Yes.” 

“I heard you praying. You don’t want the child?”

He felt her start, then her voice came, low and angry. “I was praying. To God. And I did not say that.”

“You prayed for help in accepting the child. I understood.”

He heard her sigh in the dark. “Yes. I have doubts. Many doubts.” She was silent for a moment. “The child may come right when your brother does. What will happen to it then? It would be better if we did not have a child until this is settled.”

He released a breath. Of course. Why should she feel glad for the child when there were so many worries about Ragnar’s attack? Even in this wonderful time when Rollo was enjoying the thought of being a father, his brother intruded. He turned on his side and put his arm across her waist. “I know. I am worried too about my brother returning. But I will keep you and the child safe.”

She said nothing. He felt her chest rise and fall heavily as is she was stifling a sob.

“Gisla, it will be all right.” He could feel her head nod slightly. He kissed her cheek. “Sleep now.” 

He squeezed her gently. She was at first a little resistant, but then settled against him. He felt strangely that a weight was lifted. If they shared the same worry, he could help lift it for her.

 

~~

 

_Gisla was walking in the forest beyond the palace, taking in the fresh smell of the trees all around her. The chill of winter was still in the air and there was a slight fog hovering about the lower branches._

_A voice came from the distance. She could not make out what it was saying, but it sounded like a child’s voice. She started walking towards the sound, feeling the leaves brushing her hair as she ducked between the branches._

_As she came into a little clearing, a gentle breeze blew against her face, and the voice grew stronger. And then she could just make out a child’s form. And she could hear what the child was saying._

_“Mama! I am here! Don’t worry.”_

_She looked about to see who the child was speaking to, but there was no one. She was alone. The child’s voice came closer and she could see his face. A small boy, maybe three or four years old, with a sweet round face and dark hair. And he was coming towards her, looking right at her, calling, “Mama!”_

_She reached out her hands and called back to him. He smiled and waved his hand at her. Behind him, out of the fog, she could see Rollo following him. The boy continued coming towards her, but the fog thickened suddenly and she lost sight of him._

Gisla awoke with a start. Where was the boy? She sat up and looked around, then realized where she was. In bed, not in the forest. 

Rollo stirred beside her. “Are you ill?”

“No.” She kept her voice to a whisper. Maybe if she whispered and tried to go back to sleep she would see the child again.

“What is it then? A bad dream? Not Ragnar again.”

“No. A good dream. Rollo, I saw our child.”

Rollo sat up beside her and put his arm around her. “Really? What did it look like?”

She thought for a moment and then realized. “He looked like you. A small bear.”

He laughed. “A boy? And like me?” He hugged her close. “What was he doing?”

“Running in the woods. He was coming towards me and calling for me. And you were there too, following him.”

Rollo chuckled. “Good. And then?”

“I don’t know – there was a fog and then I woke up.”

He squeezed her tight. “Ah, Gisla, we will have a son.”

“Yes.” She put her hand over her stomach. And felt something inside her. She gasped. 

“What’s wrong? Have you a pain?”

“No, it’s – the child. He moved. I felt him.”

“Really? Let me see.” He put his hand on her stomach. 

They waited and she felt the fluttering again. “There.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t feel it.”

She smiled and gave a small laugh. “No, it is only deep inside. It is too little. It felt only like – butterfly wings.”

“What is a butterfly?”

She laughed again. “I will show you later. But it felt like this.” She brushed her hand gently on his cheek, simulating the light movement. 

He chuckled happily and moved her hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly. “Our child has spoken to us.”

“Yes. It is amazing.”

“And you believe this dream?”

“I do. It was so real. If only I could have touched him.”

“You have – or he has touched you, here.” He patted her stomach. 

“Yes.” She was filled with an overwhelming sense of wellbeing. Her doubts seemed to melt away. “Oh, Rollo, I have never had a sign like this before. Is this what your prophecy meant to you?”

“No, it is much better. I could only guess what the prophecy meant for me, but this is a clear sign, is it not?”

“I think so.” She crossed her hands over her belly as if to hug the child. She laid her head on his shoulder and allowed herself to melt into his embrace. As he gently bore her down to the pillows and they settled back to sleep, she whispered a prayer of thanks to the Holy Mother for allowing her to have this glimpse of her child and for the lifting of her doubts.

 

~~

 

Rollo lay awake for quite some time thinking happily of Gisla’s dream. He had been surprised that she was so ready to accept it as a sign. She had not thought much of the meaning of her previous dreams when he had tried to interpret them, but this dream was apparently much different to her. He thanked Nótt, the night goddess, for bringing this dream to his wife and for the peace that it seemed to give her. Nótt seemed to bring him peace as well, for he found himself drifting off, his worries lifting for the first time in weeks.

He was awakened by a pounding sound. At first he thought it was only the rain, as he recalled the nights they spent in the village. But as he became more alert, he realized that it was an insistent knocking on the outer door. He rose quickly to answer it before it woke Gisla.

The guards were already opening the door when he got there and he could see Halvar behind them. Rollo’s heart sank to his stomach. It could only be danger or Halvar would not be here at this hour.

“Rollo, the signal fires have been lit. Ships must have been sighted.”

Rollo nodded curtly, quelling the sudden queasiness in his gut. “What has been done? Have men been sent to launch our own ships?”

“Yes, they are on their way. I ordered half to launch immediately and the others to wait for us.”

“Good. Alert all of the palace guard. I will be with you right away.” 

“Rollo?” Gisla’s voice came from the doorway of the bedchamber. “Is it ships?”

He nodded slowly, glanced back at Halvar, who retreated through the outer doorway, and went to her. “Yes, the signal fires were lit. We will go to meet them.” He moved towards his dressing room, and she followed him.

“But it is so soon. It is still winter.” 

He threw on a tunic and fumbled for his outer clothes. “Yes, it is surprising, but it could be. Perhaps it’s a mild winter there and Ragnar grew impatient to return.”

She said nothing and when he looked over to her, he could see the worry in her eyes. 

“It will be all right. We have built many ships and the men have been training daily.”

She nodded. 

He finished dressing, threw on his hauberk and grabbed his sword. He wished he knew what he could say to ease her mind. 

“Rollo, be careful.”

“Ah, so you care what happens to me?” He teased her a little despite the weight of this, wanting to lighten her concern.

She must have seen his mischief, for she drew herself up and replied in a haughty tone. “Of course. Our child must have a father.” But her lip quivered on the last word and Rollo gave up the pretense.

“He will.” He rushed forward to embrace her fiercely. “He will.” He pulled away ready to turn and leave without looking back. But he could not resist one last look at her. 

She stood there in her crimson dressing gown, hair flowing all around her, tears in her eyes. “I will pray for you.”

He drank her in, turned and left. Only Odin could save them now.

 

~~  


  


  


Historical Notes

Concern about whether Gisla and Rollo’s child could become king – First, let’s remember that Gisla is not a conventionally documented historical figure and if she did exist was possibly the “natural” (illegitimate) daughter of Charles the Simple, so the heritage of her children (if she had any) with Rollo would be less “noble” than would be desirable. And the famous William Longsword, Rollo’s son and heir, was the son of his wife (concubine?) Poppa, not Gisla. But if we want to assume Gisla to be the only legitimate child of the emperor (the real emperor had five legitimate daughters and one son, Louis IV), then I’m supposing that there was a slim possibility that, given what happened to Odo’s brother, Robert of Neutria in 922, Rollo and Gisla’s son could become king. The Frankish nobles revolted against Charles the Simple and elected Robert as king. So theoretically, the son of Rollo and Gisla (a war leader and the Count of Rouen, and his royal wife), could become popular and strong enough to be elected king. This election concept actually evolved earlier with the title of Holy Roman Emperor – it was an elected monarch chosen by the Prince-electors. More on each of these things [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_the_Simple) and [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Roman_Emperor).

Sexual relations (or lack thereof) during pregnancy – the medieval Catholic Church seemed to consider sex a necessary evil in order to “be fruitful and multiply.” So sex was limited to procreation through marriage. It was also forbidden at many times: Sundays, certain Fridays and Wednesdays, feast days of saints, times of fasting like Lent, when a woman was considered impure -- menstruation, pregnancy, the first 40 days after giving birth, and while nursing! There were also rules about how couples had sex. Only missionary position was acceptable and “natural” – all other positions were considered sodomy. This information was summarized from four sources and can be found [here](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medieval_female_sexuality). A very interesting book that you have to read on google books is “Sexuality in Medieval Europe: Doing Unto Others” found [here](https://books.google.com/books?id=HZXHn5DzeMYC&printsec=frontcover#v=onepage&q&f=false). This source cites Burchard of Worms (the 10th century Bishop of Worms) who wrote 20 books on canon law. His statement on sexual relations is on p. 83.

Frigg – as the mother goddess, was supposed to embody the qualities of a good mother, including patience. More [here](http://www.goddess-guide.com/frigg.html).

Terce – mid-morning prayer – 9 am.

Archbishop Franco – this is the actual name of the archbishop at the time that the real Rollo was baptized in Rouen. In fact, Franco baptized Rollo in 911. I have no idea if he was so understanding or would have granted dispensation for Rollo and Gisla. For a list of bishops and archbishops of Rouen see [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Catholic_Archdiocese_of_Rouen). 

Confessional – the archbishop asks Gisla whether her private matter might be something for the confessional. The mandatory private confession with the sacrament of penance didn’t come about until 1215 with the Fourth Lateran Council, it seems that some sort of practice of private confession existed before that, and it stands to reason that someone as devout as Gisla would have done that. More [here](https://qmbarque.com/2013/10/30/the-origins-of-mandatory-private-confession-in-the-catholic-church/) and [here](http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/11618c.htm)

Dispensation – the granting of dispensations was done for various reasons, including very formal matrimonial ones (Henry VIII got dispensation to marry Catherine of Aragon, who had been his brother’s wife, and then requested dispensation to have that marriage annulled when he wanted to divorce her, which was refused). I’m going out on a limb to suppose that the Archbishop of Rouen might grant dispensation to Rollo and Gisla to break the Church’s rules about sex during pregnancy, but I’m supposing that if someone as important as Gisla is supposed to be had asked for something that might deter her husband from greater sin (adultery was considered one of the worst of mortal sins, though it was punished more for women than men), then it might be granted, especially considering that she would be the highest patroness of the church at that time (in this story, of course). I have no idea whether the church really granted such things. I have a feeling (pure speculation based on human nature) that it’s more likely that people just “fell into sin” in such situations and confessed and did penance afterwards for it. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dispensation_\(canon_law\)#Causes_for_granting_dispensations).

Concubines in Viking culture – from the Viking Answer Lady’s page: It seems that it was fairly common for married men to take concubines – usually thralls, or slaves. “The concubine was never eligible to become her lover's wife due to this difference in social class, and thus was tolerated by the man's wife, since a concubine could be no threat to the wife's position” (Ruth M. Karras, "Concubinage and Slavery in the Viking Age," Scandinavian Studies. 62 [1990]: pp. 141-162.) More [here](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/wedding.shtml).

Quickening -- typically, women will start to feel the baby "quicken" around 18-22 weeks (about 4-5 months), depending on their sensitivity and awareness of the movements. Gisla is probably being much too certain that she’s felt the baby and not just gas, but she did just have her dream and felt visited by her child, so she made a leap of faith and guessed correctly. 

Nótt -- is the goddess of night. Dwarves called her “dream goddess” or “dream njorun” More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/N%C3%B3tt).

Odin – the god of war and battle, also considered the “All-father” or father of all the gods.

~~

Photos in the picset 

The exterior church photo is from the baptistery seen from the cloister at Aix cathedral, part of which was built in the 6th century. It’s hard to find church photos that aren’t from later periods. The church at Rouen was destroyed by the Vikings prior to Rollo’s baptism; it’s not clear what building he would have been baptized in. But Rouen Cathedral is a Gothic structure built much later, so I try to show things from earlier. Many churches have both Romanesque and Gothic elements, so I have to be careful of what to show. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aix_Cathedral).

The interior church scene is from the Sainte-Marie Abbey Church in Souillac, France. It was built between 1070-1150, so it’s still later than the Viking Age, but it has the feel that I was looking for. More [here](http://frenchmoments.eu/souillac-sainte-marie-abbey-church/).

The painting of a noble woman and a bishop – is “The Bishop of Assisi Handing a Palm to St. Clare.” She was a noble woman who gave up her noble title and took vows of poverty and served the church. I thought it was appropriate for Gisla’s sentiments. More [here](http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/1984.343/).

  
  



	19. The Princess and the Bear and the Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which Rollo deals with the ships that have been sighted and Gisla waits for news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Warm thanks to Swimmingfox, UndertheSkyline, and Windchimed for their always excellent editorial help.  
>   
> Comments are greatly appreciated and always urge me on. Thanks for reading!  
>   
>   
> [](http://imgur.com/i6Fgtps)

Note: this chapter begins shortly after the last chapter ended.  


~~ 

 

“Noble, brave guards, this is your moment. I know you may long to be in the fray, but what you do here is important, defending the city, the palace, your future ruler.” Gisla placed her hand lightly on her stomach as she continued to speak calmly, but with fervor. “It is for Rouen. For Paris. For Frankia.” 

The men at the palace wall who stood before Gisla nodded and gave the sign of allegiance, a sharp rap on their chests with their fists. Gisla dipped her head in acknowledgement and moved on through the corridors to speak to the others. She made sure that they all knew that ships had been spotted, that their lord had taken his own ships to meet them, and that an attack could be imminent. 

After Rollo had left, Gisla had stood there in their bed chamber for several minutes, trying to compose herself. Trying to realize that it was actually happening, this evil thing that had been hanging over them. Ragnar had returned. And early. 

She had glanced about, wishing there was something she could do. She could not be with them on the boats to urge them on. She could not stand on the parapet with the Oriflamme encouraging the troops. Their new defensive wall in Rouen was not complete and she could not take that risk now with the child even if it were. 

So she had done the next best thing. She had called for Rosamund, dressed simply and quickly, and gone about the house to be sure that everyone who needed to be was alerted, that there were workers in the kitchen preparing meals for the guards who would need sustenance during the night – whether from being on guard, or fighting. She walked the entire palace making sure that the men knew that she was there and reminding them of what they were fighting for. 

But that did not take so long as she would have liked. If Rosamund had not been trailing her, she would likely have gone into the yard and talked to the men out there. But she sent one of the lieutenants instead, asking him to send word through the town that people should stay locked in their homes. Not that it would help if there were a raid. It was hoped that Ragnar would bypass Rouen as his intention was to renew his attack on Paris, but there was always a chance. Especially if it was learned that Rollo’s ships came from Rouen. If Rollo’s defenses failed, there was little protection for the people here in Rouen. 

She would have gone to the church to lead prayer, but knew that it was not safe for the people to be away from their homes and the relative safety of the city fences. Raiders would strike the church first, she knew from Rollo’s warnings. And Rollo had made her promise, during one of his many discussions of “when Ragnar comes,” that she would not do so – at least not until proper city walls were finished. 

Rosamund insisted that she should try to rest; that everything was as ready as it could be. So she retreated to her room. 

Gisla spent a restless hour mostly praying, first at her prie-dieu, then in bed, and yet again in the big chair by the fire. At last she sat at the table, reading her prayer book, and allowing herself to doze. _God help us all._

 

~~ 

 

The river was cool and glassy as the men rowed along steadily. Rollo stood at the front of the ship trying to see ahead, expecting any minute to see the raven banners of his brother’s ships rise out of the dim moonlight. How he wished he’d been in the first group of ships. He wondered if they had engaged and stopped the ships, or if they’d been destroyed. Or – and he prayed that this couldn’t be so – had some of his men rejoined Ragnar upon seeing their Norse king? They were mixed with Frankish men, so that would be difficult, but he knew that his men would have the advantage over the Franks, who were less experienced aboard ship. But surely his careful cultivation of the relationship and the awarding of titles and lands had convinced those in doubt that they would continue to benefit from this alliance?

And all the while, he wondered if this time it would be different when he faced his brother. Would he have the nerve to actually kill Ragnar if it came to that? He almost wished that it would be his Frankish allies who struck the blow, but knew that this was wrong of him. The memory of Gisla standing there with troubled eyes reminded him that if he was truly defending his new position and lands and people from Ragnar, he must not shrink from striking his brother down if necessary. 

Pacing, he walked to the back of the ship and to the front yet again. He glanced across to the ship that Halvar was commanding and saw him nodding as he stared ahead into the darkness. The same was true of the commander of every ship he could see from his own. They were all as ready as they could be.

But why couldn’t they hear anything yet? Surely there would be yells and sounds of swords crossing if the fight was on. Where were his other ships? Had Ragnar’s ships turned back? Had the advance fleet followed them? 

Fully expecting to come upon a disaster as they rounded each bend, he was both relieved and distressed to see nothing as they continued. He strained to see in the dark at each turn in the river. Fighting to quell his own nerves, he reassured his men with curt nods and pats on the shoulders of the oarsmen as he passed them. 

As he walked to the back of the boat yet again, he allowed his thoughts to stray to Gisla, waiting there in the palace. He doubted if she rested – he only hoped that she would stay in the palace with her guard around her as he’d requested. 

Ahead, he could hear faint noises.

It could not be long now.

 

~~ 

 

Gisla stirred at every slight sound – even that of the fire crackling on the hearth. Finally, knowing she could not rest, she rose and paced. When she could no longer even do that, she went to look in on Pepin. 

But Pepin was not there! She checked the small privy room off his chamber, but it was empty. Where had he gone? She roused several servants and sent them to check the kitchens, the larders, and the great hall, but he was not found. When she checked his room again, it seemed that his warm clothes and coat were gone. No amount of searching turned him up, and with a sinking heart, Gisla realized that Pepin must have followed Rollo. Rollo would not have encouraged this – Pepin was still too young for battle – so the boy must have sneaked off behind the men and stowed away on a boat. The thought of that sweet little boy caught up in a bloody battle wrenched her heart and she sent up a silent prayer that God would watch over him. 

Rosamund insisted that Gisla return to her room, and seeing that she could do nothing more to prepare the house or to find Pepin, she conceded. She did not prepare for bed, but wandered out onto the balcony, straining to see if anything on the river was in view. There was nothing. That was probably a good sign, but it was hard knowing nothing.

She wondered where Rollo must be – could he already be locked in battle with his brother’s men? Would he return tonight – or at all? There had been a time when she might have welcomed his demise, especially if it had been in bringing about the defeat of Frankia’s enemies, but she found that now she longed for his return. 

As if in answer to her question, the child moved within her. Perhaps he too longed to see his father. Would Rollo ever see his child? She found herself praying fervently that he would.

She returned inside, prayed yet again at her prie-dieu, then settled into her big chair to wait. She made no pretense of trying to sleep, despite her exhaustion. 

 

~~ 

 

As they came around the next bend, there were voices across the water in both Norse and Frankish. But not shouts, not swords clashing. Dark shapes, but it was hard to make out what they were seeing. As they drew ever closer, every man tensed. Would there be an attack? 

Rollo had his men maneuver the boat closer to the shapes – which appeared to be upright ships. Why were they just sitting still? Why was it so quiet? At last they were close enough to see – and hear – that there was no fighting. He could see some strange ships, as well as his own, and now more sounds came across the water, and he could recognize Gulbrand’s deep growling voice and at last he felt it safe to raise a call of recognition. 

Instantly Gulbrand’s voice came back across the water. “Rollo! Come alongside; it was a false alarm. These are merchant ships from Frisia.”

At first Rollo was hesitant to believe it. Was it a ruse? But he trusted Gulbrand, whose voice was confident. Rollo ordered his men to row ahead to where Gulbrand’s boat was. As they pulled closer, he could see that lanterns had been lit and indeed, things were peaceful, if tense. Sinric and a contingent of Franks and Norsemen were aboard one of the foreign ships and Sinric was talking with them.

Rollo decided to go aboard to see for himself, and was soon satisfied that the ship – and Halvar and Gulbrand assured him that the other two ships were the same – was full of trade goods and had only a few armed men; merely enough to ward off thieves in port, not full out raids, or to raid themselves.

At last Rollo felt convinced that this was no raid. He conferred with his top men and it was agreed that the merchant ships should be escorted to Paris along with Sinric in order to make the introductions for trade. He and half of the men would scout ahead and join those who had already gone down river to be sure no further ships were lurking, and the rest would return to Rouen to relay the news to stand down. He ordered that the signal fire towers be rebuilt immediately upon daybreak so that no night would go by without them. 

Before the ships left for Rouen, he gave one of his men a particular message to take to Gisla. 

As they were about to leave on their scouting mission, a man from one of the boats in Rollo’s original group signaled him. His men rowed over and he saw why. Pepin was standing beside the commander, barely able to see over the side of the ship. Rollo shook his head in disapproval, and yet smiled to himself with understanding. He might well have done the same as a child. He retrieved the boy, had words with him, and sent him with the messenger to Gisla. She would be worried sick. 

Rollo was filled with nervous energy. He had been preparing himself mentally to fight his brother, and in some ways had welcomed this early arrival. To have had this settled for good would have been best. But being nearly blind at night on the water with his ships had made him feel vulnerable. They were strong and he felt confident that they could take on Ragnar’s ships and men, but it would be better if there were even more – and if there were watch towers that could launch warnings even sooner. And stronger defenses in Rouen to repel them. He thought carefully about what other ways they could prepare.

 

~~ 

 

Gisla must have dozed, for she was startled awake by a knock at the door, and as she stirred, it opened and Marcoul, her personal guard, peeked in. She sat up and called to him. “Come in. Is there news?”

“Yes, Your Highness. A man has come from Lord Rollo.”

She got to her feet, smoothed her gown, and waited tensely. “Come in, please, come in. Forgive my appearance – tell me, what news?”

The soldier dipped his head to her and began. “Your Highness, there has been no fighting. Lord Rollo himself sent me to assure you that he is well, as are all the men, and the boy, Pepin.”

Gisla breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Thank God.” She clasped her hands together to still her nerves, for she felt near to tears with relief. She felt the baby move again – he must be relieved too. Rollo was well – and the mystery of Pepin was solved. “No fighting? No ships?”

“There were ships, but they were trade ships. Sinric was able to speak to their crew a little; it seems they are from Frisia.”

“Ah, yes. But we have had their ships come before. Why were they not recognized?”

“They are of a new design, so none of our men recognized them, but the Norsemen on watch thought they looked a little like Viking ships, so they raised the alert to be safe. The ships were intercepted and boarded. Only trade goods and a few armed crewmen were found, but they did not fight. So they were escorted to Paris to make their trade. Sinric went with them to translate.”

“Good, good. But Lord Rollo did not return with you?”

“No, Your Highness. He and the other men decided to scout further down the river to be sure there were no other ships. And he wanted to scout locations for more signal fires to be built. He would not leave, he said, until the signal fire towers were rebuilt.”

“He would want things secure again. And do you return to him, or are you to join the guard here?”

“I am to return, to bring provisions for the others. And, err, Lord Rollo said we might have a brief rest and a meal first.”

“Of course. That is what I was going to suggest. Please, go and rest yourself and food will be served – the servant will show you to a place to rest and eat. I will arrange for food to be packed for you to take to the men.”

The man bowed and turned to go. Then Gisla remembered Pepin. “You mentioned Pepin. Where is he, please?”

“Forgive me, Your Highness, I forgot to say. He came with us; he is below. Lord Rollo told him to wait in his place in the great hall until you sent for him.”

“Thank you.” She watched as the man left with Marcoul, and then prepared herself for some much welcomed activity. 

 

~~ 

 

Rollo spent the day with his men, scouting and planning further positions for lookouts. The false alarm had made him nervous and restless. He wished there was some way that he could be sure next time that when they went out, they faced Ragnar, and not more merchant ships. Of course, there could be attacks from those besides Ragnar, so being ready for anything was necessary. Still, if the watchers _were_ certain, it would give them a great advantage.

He thought he should be relieved not to have had to face his brother. Instead Rollo only felt dread that the moment would have to come again in the future. And yet he was filled with determination that he – and all of Rouen and Paris – would be ready to face the foe when it really came.

Insistent on practicing night maneuvers while they were already out on the water, Rollo worked the men strenuously. Halvar at first questioned this, but ultimately agreed with him that it was good practice for the men to endure the long hours in the boats – Frankish and Norse together – so they might be prepared for what a real battle might entail.

Later, as he began supervising the placement of the signal towers, it occurred to him. What if they built two signal towers in each position – close enough together that the same men could light them, but far enough apart that one would not set the other alight? One would be lit if there were unknown ships, two if lookouts could identify Ragnar’s ships for certain. Then they would not need to put Paris on full alert unnecessarily. 

Relieved to have something new that could help with defenses, Rollo set about giving orders to get his plan underway. 

 

~~ 

 

Gisla found Pepin just where he was supposed to be. She went to her great chair and beckoned for him to come stand before her. She longed to take him in her arms and squeeze him, but resisted. He must be made to see that what he did was wrong.

The boy came running over to her and before she could say anything burst out, “I am so sorry, Your Highness, I should not have run after the men and worried you!”

Again, Gisla had to stifle the urge to throw her arms around the boy and simply welcome him back. But she admonished instead. “Pepin, you know that it isn’t proper to speak before being spoken to.”

Pepin clamped his mouth shut and nodded enthusiastically.

“First, I would like you to repeat to me what Lord Rollo told you before sending you home.”

Shifting uncomfortably, Pepin screwed his eyes tight and recited, “He said that I was wrong to come after them because there might have been fighting and I was not strong enough to fight yet and would only cause him worry.”

“Yes, good. What else?”

“That it must have caused Her Highness – you – great worry and that I must not worry you because of the baby.”

Gisla smiled gently. “Yes, that is so. Anything else?”

Pepin’s face grew even more somber. “Yes. That since there was no danger, he might have sent for me to come back with the men to help with the signal fire towers, but now he could not keep me there because it would reward me for running away. So as punishment I must be sent back to you.”

Gisla had to put her hand over her face to hide her mirth. She swallowed and coughed to break the spell. “So, it is punishment to be sent to me?” 

“Oh, Your Highness, no, of course not! I love to be with you!” The boy showed even more discomfort realizing his error. “But – I do like being in the ships, so I wish I could be with Rollo too.”

_The sweet boy. Loving, but so very honest. “Lord_ Rollo. I understand, Pepin. So it seems that Lord Rollo has already told you all the things that I would tell you. Do you need me to say them again so you will remember them always?”

He shook his head emphatically. 

“Good, because you already promised me once before that you would not run away and worry me again. Do you remember?”

He nodded solemnly. 

“Then I will only ask that you take an oath with me. That you will promise – just as soldiers take the oath to obey their officers – you will promise that you will always follow the orders that Lord Rollo or I give you.” 

“I promise.”

She took out her prayer book and turned it to the page with the cross on it. “Now kiss the cross to seal your promise. God will be unhappy with you if you break it again.”

“I will never break it, I swear.”

“Good. Now come.” She drew him into a tight hug, though she knew she should probably be severe for a little longer. But she could not help it. He was safe. “I was so worried for you,” she whispered into his hair. And she knew, more than ever, that she would feel just this way about her own child.

He squeezed her back and nodded, and she heard a muffled, “I’m sorry.”

When she released him, he stepped back, assumed the same attentive position, and waited. She nodded. “So, the first thing you will do for me is to help the men load their supplies when they are finished eating. You will go to the kitchens and carry some of the bundles to the horses. You may ask the cook to give you a piece of bread with butter to break your fast so you can work better, and you may have a mug of milk. Do you understand?”

He nodded again solemnly. 

“Very well, you may go and see the cook.”

The boy bowed carefully, and then darted off. After he left the room, Gisla allowed herself to laugh. He was such a sweet, amusing little thing. And such a good memory – it was clear that he remembered exactly what Rollo had told him – and therefore must remember what he’d promised, but was just weak enough to have been too tempted by the excitement that he had to run after Rollo.

She wondered if he believed that he would only be allowed bread and milk all morning. She had been going to tell him that he would break his fast properly when he was done helping the men, but decided that he should have some sense of restriction for a little while to help him remember.

 

~~ 

 

Rollo returned late that evening, exhausted, but satisfied that he’d made things as safe as possible for the next time someone came through. As he entered their chambers, he noticed that a candle was burning across the room and that Gisla was sitting with Pepin, her prayer book on her lap. Both were asleep, the boy’s head on her shoulder. Rollo smiled to think that this is what it would be like one day when his own son was that age. 

He walked as lightly as he could over to them, quietly removing his hauberk and laying his gear on a chair. Gently, he lifted the boy away from Gisla and into his arms, and carried him off to bed. Gisla did not stir. She must have been exhausted from worry today. 

Returning to the room after depositing the child in bed, he saw that Gisla slept on. If he had not thought she would awaken with a stiff neck, he would have left her undisturbed. But he preferred her beside him in bed, so he reached over her to lift her into his arms and take her to bed too. 

As he hovered over her, she awoke with a start, gave a glad little cry, and put her arms around his neck, murmuring, “Rollo. You are back.” 

Surprised at her show of emotion, he raised her to her feet, and folded her into his embrace. They stood there for some moments before she seemed to come to her senses and relaxed her hold on him. 

“We were waiting up for you. Pepin…” She glanced down to where the boy had been sitting and then looked back at Rollo, confused. 

“I put him to bed. Now I will put you to bed.” He started to lift her into his arms.

But she shook her head and pulled away slightly. “No, I will sit with you while you eat – there is food for you. And I would hear about your day.” 

He took her by the hand and led her to the table. “I would rather hear about yours.” 

“Mine? But it was not much different than any day after the messenger came. I filled it checking all the food stores and speaking to the guards, praying, reading my prayer book. Trying to fill the time.”

“And before the messenger?” He longed to know how she had managed while expecting an attack.

Gisla told him about making her rounds to be sure everyone and everything was as ready as it could be. And her vain attempts to rest afterwards.

“When did you realize Pepin was gone?”

“Not very long after you had left. Long enough that it was too late to try to get him back, but….”

“Soon enough that you worried all night?”

She grimaced. “Well, yes.”

He embraced her. “I’m sorry you had to worry about him, too. I blame myself.”

“But you surely did not tell him he could go?”

“No, but I have taken him with me so often that he must have thought he should be there. I should have awakened him and ordered him to stay. But I did not think of it. I could only think that I must get to the ships and into the fight.”

“Of course.” Her eyes flashed and he knew that she felt the same, despite not being a warrior. “Tell me.”

He hesitated. Should he tell her of his doubts? He couldn’t cause her more worry, so he only told her of the trip down river, of the weird seeming stillness of the water, and the eeriness of the ships when they came upon them. He saw her suppress a shudder at his description. He explained all they had done afterwards.

“I could not return after that – after being ready to fight – and do small things. So we scouted and trained, and rebuilt the towers.”

“What did you find?”

“More places to put lookouts. We may gain ourselves some time that way.”

“Good.” Something in her voice seemed strained.

“Gisla. It will be all right. We will be ready for them.”

“Were you today? Were there enough ships if it had been Ragnar?”

He paused. He wasn’t really sure. When he had come with Ragnar last spring, they had had one hundred and twenty ships. But that fleet had been decimated, and he would have been hard pressed to gather that many more supporters this soon, especially on the heels of a limited success. “I think we could have held him back – we might have surprised them, especially at night. But if he sees the signal fires, he might go ashore and prepare for a land battle.”

“That will favor us, will it not? Our men are more experienced on land.”

“Yes, if we can land safely. That will be the difficulty. But we’d have the benefit of having more ships arriving.” He told her of his plan to put two signal towers in case of a certain sighting of Ragnar. “I would rather defeat them on the water, or turn them back, or draw them down to where we have strong defenses so we have the advantage of attacking them on our ground.”

Gisla nodded. “Of course. So now we still have time to build more defenses. Perhaps you were right after all that he will not come before early summer?”

“I can only hope so.” 

As he was finishing his meal, Rollo asked about whether Gisla had punished Pepin. 

Gisla spoke in an offended tone. “Hmpff. It was already punishment for him to be sent back to me.”

Rollo peered into her face. “I did not say that it was a punishment to be sent back to you.” He grimaced. “But _he_ did.”

She gave him a slightly mischievous smile. “Yes. And apologized profusely afterwards. He was most devoted to me all day long.”

“It was hard to be too harsh with him – I was just the same as a boy. But Vikings take their boys along on raids at a certain age; I went not much older than he is.” He thought for a moment and realized that Ragnar’s sons by Aslaug were getting close to that age. “I hope my brother does not bring my small nephews.”

Gisla looked at him thoughtfully. “Will it matter? If you kill Ragnar, won’t they grow up wanting to kill you?”

“Perhaps. But we must not worry about that now.”

Gisla sat there quietly for a moment. Then she spoke thoughtfully. “Pepin will not be a palace guard.”

“What? Ah, Gisla, you will not be so hard on a small boy. He was just excited to see the ships–”

“No, I did not mean that. I mean that he will not be my personal guard. He will be a soldier, a warrior in the vanguard, not the defense. In the fray – with you. Or perhaps our son, one day.”

Rollo was surprised. He had not realized that Gisla would already be thinking of the future of their son this way. But of course, she must. The son of a warrior would grow up to be a battle leader and ruler himself. He nodded. “Perhaps, one day.” 

The thought of future battles made Rollo restless again, despite his exhaustion from the night and day he’d already spent. He longed to be outside, making plans. He settled for a stroll onto the balcony, and drew Gisla along with him. 

Together they looked out towards the river, and they took in the stars above them. Rollo pointed to a cluster of stars. “Look how bright Odin’s Wagon is tonight.”

Gisla followed his gaze, and with a little mischief in her voice said, “That is not Odin’s Wagon, that is Charlemagne’s Chariot.”

Rollo chuckled, recognizing both Charlemagne and the word chariot from the history book that Gisla had read to him. “It seems that gods and kings alike ride the chariots of the sky.” 

Moving to stand behind her so that she could lay her head back on his shoulder, he put his arms around her, resting his hands at her waist. Beginning at last to feel some peace settling in, he stood there with Gisla pressed against him, surveying their world, their city, their home. 

Beneath his hands there was suddenly a slight ripple feeling. He drew in a breath, and pressed his hands closer on Gisla’s belly. 

“You felt him?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“He has been moving more and more strongly all day. I think he longed for your return. Or he wanted to come and fight with you.”

Rollo felt the child move again, and a wave of fierce protectiveness washed over him. He squeezed Gisla gently, and he knew that he would have no qualms about defending this child, this woman, and this place. His new home. Let Ragnar come. He would be ready and he would win. All would be well.

 

~~  
  
Historical Notes

Frisia and Frisian ships – Frisia was an ancient region in northwestern Europe that is currently part of the Netherlands and northwestern Germany. Frisian merchants and skippers had extensive trade in other parts of Europe during the 7th to 10th centuries, and they had ships known as Frisian coasters (because they sailed along the coast) and later Cogs, which were larger and stronger and could fight off raiders. I am fudging a little by calling the ships that Rollo’s fleet stopped Frisian, as the newer design would post-date the period of the story, but figured it was close enough in history for fanfiction. 

The Frisian coast was partly occupied by Vikings in the 840s, though they were expelled later, around the time this story takes place. Vikings may have settled peacefully in some areas of Frisia where they cooperated and traded with the locals.

Sources:  
[Frisia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frisia#History)  
[Cog](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cog_\(ship\)%20)

~

Siege walls in Rouen – I had been trying to find information for some time about just how well defended the city of Rouen would have been by the time Rollo was there. I finally found [this source](http://www.medievalhistories.com/rouen-911-1300/) that helped:

“…on the eve of the Scandinavian raids…Rouen probably still looked much as it had in late Antiquity. At that time the Gallo-Roman Walls were presumably still intact as was the plan of the city. Outside the walls lay a suburban cemetery, churches, orchards and a commercial district. However, during the first attack in 841 the Cathedral burnt down and the monasteries were abandoned; a while later a new episcopal palace was built against the rampart, basically constituting a small fortified camp inside the city. During this phase the suburbs were abandoned and the relics were moved inside the walls of the city. Later the Viking attacks intensified. This forced the administration into exile. However, the city seems to have been continuously peopled by refugees from the countryside, contributing to the reorganization or the city.”

So outer city walls were built later on; a famous siege in Rouen took place in 1170 in which the walls were important to its defense. So it’s not unreasonable to suppose that they began to be built during the later Viking attacks and after Rollo was established as the ruler there. 

Sources:  
[Medieval Histories/Rouen 911-1300](http://www.medievalhistories.com/rouen-911-1300/)  
[Siege of Paris 845](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Paris_\(845\)%20)

While we’re on the subject of city walls, it seems that the walls that protected Paris were built between the famous Viking raids of 845 (when Ragnar was supposed to have led it) and the later raids in 885-886 (when Rollo was one of the Viking leaders involved in the fighting). The earlier attack was much more successful and the city was raided and sacked; the later attack was a siege more like is depicted in the show in which the siege towers were unsuccessful in breaching the city walls.

~

Signal towers, signal fires – actually called “beacon fires” or “beacon hills,” these were built in many parts of Europe at many different times in history and some were very elaborate. Scandinavians had hill forts that were part of beacon networks to warn against invading pillagers. In Finland they had beacons to warn settlements of Viking raids. In Wales and Scotland they used them to warn against English raiders; in England the most famous beacons were used to warn of the Spanish Armada. Many hills in England were named Beacon Hill after such beacons. The Byzantines had over 400 miles of beacons to protect their empire and the Great Wall of China is also a beacon network. 

As to whether Rollo could have devised a more complicated code as part of his beacon system, it is plausible when you consider that the Greeks had a smoke signal system using alphabetical signals to communicate more complicated messages. It enabled messages to be easily signaled by holding sets of torches in pairs.

Sources:  
[Beacon](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beacon)  
[Byzantine Beacon System](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Byzantine_beacon_system)  
[Smoke Signal](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smoke_signal)

~

Milk as a drink for children – According to _Food in Medieval Times_ , milk was not consumed by adults, but was fed to children after weaning from mother’s milk. 

Source:  
[Food in Medieval Times](https://books.google.com/books?id=jtgud2P-EGwC&pg=PA45&lpg=PA45&dq=the+drinking+of+milk+in+medieval+times&source=bl&ots=9kiLRviQV7&sig=DaT5Oi92jFwyJs3d-wDheEQtH8c&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiRk8icjoHNAhUBGWMKHcIvA9cQ6AEISjAH#v=onepage&q=the%20drinking%20of%20milk%20in%20medieval%20times&f=false), by Melitta Weiss Adamson, p. 45.

~

Numbers of ships, men, and losses: In the siege of Paris of 845, the Danish Viking fleet commanded by Ragnar is said to have had 120 ships carrying 5000 men (Note that it is disputed whether this was really the legendary Ragnar Lothbrok or another chieftain). In the show, it was mentioned that Ragnar lost about 1000 men, though they don’t mention how many ships were destroyed, if any. But the show seems to merge that raid with the later siege of 885-886, in which the city walls of Paris repelled the initial attack and the Vikings had to siege for a few months and took more losses (as did the Franks). But it’s estimated that there were about 300 ships in that later raid which would presumably carry about 12,000 men, so there were many more men to be lost. It’s not clear how many ships or men Ragnar started out with in the show, but I’m going with the lower number just to keep with what is closest to what the “historical” Ragnar might have had.  


Sources:  
[Siege of Paris 845](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Paris_\(845\)%20)  
[Siege of Paris 885-886](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siege_of_Paris_\(885%E2%80%9386\)%20)

~

Norse astronomy – I ran across multiple sites that said that the Norse names for most of the constellations have not really survived. But more than one mentioned that the Norse called the Big Dipper “The Great Wagon” or “Odin’s Wagon” (Óðins vagn). Another source indicated that the French called the big dipper “The Great Chariot” and still another had this gem: 

‘Grimm mentions the Old Swedish chronicle which calls the Great Wagon _karlwagen_ and connects it with the god Thórr, "who stepping into his chariot holds the seven stars in his hand" ( _Thor statt naken som ett barn, siu stjernor i handen och Karlewagn_ ). It is true that Thórr was sometimes refered to as _Karl or Karla-Þórr_ , "Old Man Thórr", but elsewhere in Europe the Great Wagon was considered the wagon of Charlemagne (Karl Magnus, Charles the Great), and Grimm goes on to point out that many stories of Wotan or Óðinn have been reinvented in Germanic folklore after the introduction of Christianity with Charlemagne as their hero. ( _Teutonic Mythology_ ch. 22).’

So I just had to use that, and extrapolated Gisla’s name for the Big Dipper from those two sources.

Sources:  
[Viking Answer Lady/Stars](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/stars.shtml)  
[Constellations/UrsaMajor](http://www.constellationsofwords.com/Constellations/UrsaMajor.html)  
[Stargazing/Big Dipper](http://www.space.com/16270-big-dipper-night-sky-stargazing-tips.html)

There is also a neat discussion of how the name Ursa majoris was derived on the second link. 

~

Rollo feeling the baby kick – I know that it’s only been one day later in the story from when Gisla had only been able to feel the baby herself, so really it should have been several weeks later before Rollo could feel it. But since I am having her be at about 20 weeks into her pregnancy at this point, it is actually possible for a baby’s movement to be felt externally at that time in development; it varies from case to case. 

‘…each pregnancy is unique, so your partner may feel your baby kick before week 20. "Depending on the thickness of the abdominal wall and the activity level of the baby, a woman's partner may be able to feel movements anytime after she does," says Catherine Hansen, assistant professor of obstetrics and gynecology at University of Texas Medical Branch Galveston.’

Or you can just consider that I am taking artistic license here. 

Source: [Baby Center](http://www.babycenter.com/404_when-will-my-partner-feel-the-baby-kick_10366574.bc)


	20. The Princess and the Bear and the Child Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  In which Rollo and Gisla prepare for the birth of their child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many thanks to Swimmingfox for her valuable story advice and editing support. Thanks to UnderTheSkyline for the research help as well as her story suggestions. And thanks to Windchimed for her eagle-eyed proof-reading and story observations which I implemented at the last minute. All of these helped to make this the chapter I was hoping it would be. 
> 
> As always, I welcome your comments. Thanks for reading!  
> 

  
~~ 

 

 _And trouble thyself not for thou wilt be as true and loving a mother as was thine own. Fare thee well as I fare._

Gisla looked up from Clothild’s letter and smiled. Her friend’s letter gave her joy, which only a few weeks ago she had not felt. A serenity had come to her when things had settled down after the incident with the foreign ships. Ever since her dream and the quickening of the child, she’d become more and more at ease with her marriage and the prospect of becoming a mother. 

Having finished her friend’s letter, she turned to the others. She had allowed herself the indulgence of reading Clothild’s letter first as it was the most pleasant, but knew that the state letters must be dealt with. 

After some time perusing the official letters, she felt a slight cramp in her belly. This was not unusual when she’d been sitting at a task for so long, so she rose to walk around a little. As expected, the cramp eased. She paced around the room a bit, then paused by the window to see how the work in the garden was progressing. The workmen were placing large flat stones to make a new path there. She smiled at the thought that one day she and her child would walk there together. 

 

~~ 

 

Rollo was returning from a day-long ride inspecting defenses, and visiting farms and people. It had been several weeks since the false alarm with the ships, and he had spent nearly every day riding out to various places where he had men working. They had made great progress with watch towers and the city walls, so he was feeling more confident in their readiness. He missed having Gisla with him, but was glad that she was safe – and seemingly happy – at home in the palace.

After an initial period of nervousness over the possibility of Ragnar's early return, Gisla had settled into what seemed to be a more traditional wifely pattern. She was seeing to the household as usual, but also making preparations for the child – he had heard her discussing new linens, the making of a cradle, and the arranging of a room next to their bedchamber. During the day, Gisla continued to see to the improvements being made to the interior of the palace and in the evenings, while he sat by the fire and whittled, she worked on sewing some little gowns for the baby. She spoke contentedly of the child, and they discussed names that they might give him. Rollo suggested that they name him after her father, to honor him and the treaty that brought them together, but Gisla preferred names from the Holy Book.

Rollo pondered all of this as he and the other men riding with him entered the courtyard of the palace.

As they approached the stable yard, a servant boy came running up. “My lord, my lord!”

“What is it, boy?”

“My lady asks that you hurry to the house.”

“What lady? What is wrong?” He was already off the horse and tossing the reins to a stable boy. Halvar, who had accompanied him, came around to see what was going on.

“Lady Rosamund. I don’t know, but she also sent for a woman from the village for Her Highness.”

The midwife? Could it be the child – but it was much too soon, was it not? He glanced at Halvar, who nodded sharply and took over with the men.

Rollo dashed into the house and took the stairs two at a time. As he approached the bedchamber from down the long hallway, he heard women’s concerned voices and weeping. 

As he entered he saw the women, including the midwife, huddled in the corner tending to something. The child? There was a bin of bloody linens by the hearth.

A screen blocked the bed and he could hear women talking quietly behind it. One was crying. Gisla? Rosamund came around the screen and stopped before him, her eyes sad. 

“The child?” He already knew the answer. 

She shook her head and glanced to where Rollo could now see that the women were bathing a small pink form. “It came early – it was stillborn.”

His stomach sank. “What happened? Did she fall?”

“No. It just happens sometimes.” She tilted her head towards the midwife, who was shaking her head over the child. “The midwife says that she can see nothing that caused it.”

“And Gisla? She is all right?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, the midwife says she should be fine. She is young and healthy – there will be other children.” Rosamund choked on these words, and Rollo knew that she thought of how much Gisla already loved this child. He laid a hand on her shoulder, all the while breathing a sigh of relief that at least Gisla was all right.

He moved around the screen to find Gisla. He saw that it was Ermengarde who was weeping loudly as she tended her lady. The women quickly covered Gisla when they saw him, but he could see that some of the bed linens were bloody and Gisla’s shift was stained.

Gisla herself was silent, but tears coursed down her face, and she looked stricken. For once she didn’t shy from his seeing her in an undressed state. She looked at him blankly, staring as if she did not recognize him. But then she shook her head slowly. And she began to weep harder, her body trembling. 

Rollo was shocked to see her like this, so seemingly broken. He went to comfort her, and perching on the edge of the bed, reached his hand out to hold hers. He felt her hand clasp his slightly, but otherwise she remained still, aside from the trembling. 

She mumbled something that he didn’t quite understand. Then she said it again. “They won’t let me see him.” 

“What? Why not?”

Rosamund had come to the bed, bearing more linens for Gisla. Now she beckoned him from the bed as the women took the linens from her and began to tend to Gisla further. She spoke in a low voice, just to Rollo. “She says she has seen him in her dreams. Surely it is better that she not see him like this.”

“Why not, what is wrong with him?” 

Rosamund looked at him sadly. “Nothing. He is just small and thin. It could break her heart to see him, more than it already is.”

Rollo thought on this. He too wanted to protect Gisla, but he would not deny her the right to see their child if she wished it. “I will see him and we will decide together. But she knows her own mind. If she wants to see her child, she shall see him.”

Rosamund started to protest, but Rollo gave her a hard look and she bowed away to attend Gisla.

As he approached the hearth, the midwife now tried to stop him. “Let us finish bathing him first.”

“You think that some blood will trouble me?”

“No, but it’s your own son.”

He ignored her and moved closer to where the other women were cleansing the baby. Rollo was surprised at how small he was and yet so complete, so much a child already. His skin was very pale and thin; Rollo could see the veins through it. The hands and fingers were formed – so tiny. He nodded to the women. “She will see him. Bathe him and wrap him properly for her.”

The women nodded, and continued their task. Rollo paced as the women finished tending Gisla, helping her into a clean chemise and putting new linens on the bed. 

Then Rollo returned to Gisla’s side, where she was now sitting quietly in the bed, propped against the pillows. He sat beside her and put his arms around her to cradle her. “You will see him if you wish. We will say goodbye to him together.”

She looked up at him with tears pooling in her eyes, and he realized that while he’d seen her in tears before, it was never like this. She had always been so strong, trying to hold her grief back; even when so much was taken from her, when forced to marry him, forced to leave her beloved city, never did she truly cry. This was what could break her. 

But it would not break her. She would stay strong. He would make sure of it. He pulled her closer and whispered to her, “We will mourn him together. We will not forget him.”

Gisla did not answer, but he thought he felt her nod slightly against his shoulder. 

The women brought the child over to them and gently handed him to Rollo. His eyes burning as he forced back tears, he cradled the tiny boy in his arms for a few moments and wondered why the gods had decided to take his son to Helgafjell so soon. Then he turned and carefully laid the child in Gisla’s arms. She looked at the little bundle intently, as if studying his face so she’d never forget it. Rollo put his arms around her and drew them closer. 

Gisla whispered, “He is so beautiful. Why did God take him so soon?”

Rollo had no answer, only the same question. “I don’t know. But he will be safe and content in Helgafjell.” 

She looked up at him in question.

He hesitated to tell her of his own beliefs about where the child must be now. Would it comfort her, or trouble her more that he did not think as a Christian? He answered simply, “Heaven.” He would explain it later if she seemed open to it.

She nodded and turned back to gaze at the child. “Heaven, yes. But where is the priest? Why has he not come yet to bless and baptize our child? He cannot go to Heaven without being baptized.”

“Has he been sent for?”

“Yes, but he is taking so long.”

Rosamund came and assured her that the priest had been sent for and that he surely would come very soon. 

Rollo pulled Gisla closer, and they grieved together for a little while, Gisla murmuring prayers and little inanities that mothers always say to their babies. Rollo’s stomach tightened. It seemed impossible now that Gisla had doubted that she would be a good mother. Frigg herself could not be such a loving mother as Gisla would have been to this child.

 

~~ 

 

Gisla sat with the child, shedding silent tears, her heart overwhelmed. He was so tiny and perfect. Why couldn’t he live? Why had God sent that dream only to take the child before she could even truly know him? She mouthed the words of another prayer, but felt only numbness.

Rollo’s concern and kindness made her weep even more. He sat with his arms around her and the child. She felt a vague sense of strength from him, and leaned against him, never letting her eyes leave the child.

At last there was a shuffling at the door, and to Gisla’s great relief, the priest was announced. He came around the screen and apologized for his tardiness, explaining that there had been a nobleman who had required the last rites. Gisla nodded in understanding. “Thank you for coming, Father Fredegar. Here is our little one.” She glanced down at the little bundle in her arms. 

The priest expressed his condolences for the loss of the child and began a prayer that Gisla had heard many times at funerals. She felt a slight sense of peace wafting over her. When he had finished the prayer, Father Fredegar asked if he should now prepare the child for burial. 

“But he must be baptized first, Father.” 

“The Church does not baptize stillborn babies, surely you know this.”

Gisla’s heart sank. She had known this, but her child had seemed a living person in her dreams. “But he cannot go to Heaven – or be buried in the church – if he is not baptized. Please, Father, I saw him alive in my dreams. Surely he can be baptized and buried in a consecrated place.” 

Rollo moved at her side, and his rumbling voice spoke menacingly. “You are a man of God and you won’t baptize this child? I thought you priests wanted to baptize everyone.”

The priest wavered, glancing around the room to the women who hovered nearby. Gisla saw that they were all watching, waiting, and that Rosamund was nodding her approval to the priest. Father Fredegar sighed. “Perhaps we may do so in this most unusual case, Your Highness. No doubt the archbishop would approve.”

A wave of relief flowed over Gisla. “Thank you, Father.” She held the child close, as the priest prepared for the baptism. 

“What name will you give him, my child?” But she hadn’t decided on a name, except to consider Charles. But they couldn’t name him that now. She hesitated.

Rollo spoke firmly. “We will call him by my Christian name, ‘Robert.’” He turned to Gisla. “This is right, no?”

Gisla could not speak, but nodded, tears welling in her eyes once more. 

Father Fredegar sprinkled a little holy water on the baby’s forehead and said the sacred words in Latin, ending with “May almighty God, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, bless you. Amen.” Everyone in the room repeated, “Amen.”

After that, Gisla at last felt her dread lifting. The child was a Christian, he was safely in Heaven and his body would rest in the church. 

Gisla held little Robert for some time, continuing to whisper prayers and words of love and comfort over him. Rollo sat silently with her, his strong arms around her and the child. They were now a family, but already their family was broken.

 

~~ 

 

As darkness fell, Rosamund approached the bed and tried to get Gisla to rest. But Gisla did not want to be parted from the baby. Rollo quietly urged her to let Rosamund and the other ladies sit with the child, but it was only when Ermengarde came to her, begging to be allowed to hold little Robert for a while, that Gisla gave him up. Gisla’s weeping as the baby was lifted from her arms threatened to undo Rollo’s resolve to subdue his own grief for Gisla’s sake.

Food was brought, and though Rollo felt little appetite, he ate something so as to encourage Gisla, who refused all but a little wine. Finally Rosamund coaxed Gisla into sipping a little soup, and the midwife gave her a sleeping brew. After a little while, Gisla slipped into a silent sleep.

Rollo left for a while to visit with Sinric and Halvar, and to comfort little Pepin, who was heartbroken about the baby’s loss. He was warmed by the steadfast friendship of the men as they sat with him in the great hall, talking of mundane things to ease the heartache. At last he took his leave, and went to try to get some sleep. Despite the priest’s assurances that it was unnecessary for a stillborn child, at Gisla’s insistence, a simple funeral was to be held tomorrow, so Rollo knew he must be rested to be strong for her.

He prepared himself for bed as usual, but when he went into their bedchamber, he found that Rosamund was sitting beside the bed in a chair she’d pulled close to Gisla. He nodded to her, and she nodded back, but she made no motion to leave. 

“Rosamund, thank you for your care. You must go and rest now.”

The woman looked up in surprise. “I…I intended to stay by her side all night. She might need me.”

“I will be beside her. I will be there for her if she wakes.”

A strange look came over her face. "But I have always been by her side when she was ill or grieving.”

Rollo realized suddenly that for Rosamund this was as great a grief as if Gisla were her own daughter. He walked over to her side of the bed and offered the woman his hand. Rosamund looked surprised, but took it and rose slowly. “Rosamund, I see that you grieve too. I know that you care for Gisla as a daughter. She will need your strength tomorrow during the funeral. Will you not rest so that you can help her then?”

Tears were in the woman’s eyes as she nodded. Rollo squeezed her hand, and she left. 

Rollo sighed. He had not thought of this ending to things. The worry he had always had was that Ragnar would come and endanger this new life. That nature – or the gods – would interfere had not occurred to him. Wondering if some evil norn had visited the child and caused him to be taken, Rollo prayed to Hlín to protect the spirit of the child as he made his way to Helgafjell.

He slid into bed, taking care not to disturb Gisla, and lay awake for a long time, pondering what Urðr might have in store for them now. 

He must have drifted off to sleep, for it was starting to grow light when something awakened him. Gisla was stirring beside him, and when he spoke quietly to her, she seemed disoriented at first, saying that the child would come soon. When he shook his head and didn’t answer, a pained look came over her pale face, and tears began to form in her eyes. She asked for the child, and he told her that the women were staying with him, and that she would see him in the morning. He thought she might insist on going to the child, but she seemed to accept his edict, sank back onto the pillow beside him, and allowing him to draw her into his arms, fell into a troubled sleep.

 

~~ 

 

When Gisla woke again the sun was fully up. She heard her women talking in hushed tones in the next room and knew immediately what they were speaking about. The sadness of the previous day came crashing over her, threatening to overwhelm her. Her child was dead and today they would bury him. 

She stirred, and Rollo came to her – he must have been sitting near, watching her. He was already dressed and looking very somber. 

"Will you eat something? I have sent for some food."

Gisla shook her head. She had no appetite. "I must pray first."

Rollo helped her from the bed and into her robe. She went to the prie-dieu, wincing in pain as she tried to kneel. Strong hands suddenly were there supporting her as she went down, and she looked up at Rollo gratefully. Gisla then spoke the words that had been part of her life for as long as she could remember, the ones that made her think most of when her mother had died. And yet for some reason, they brought her no comfort. She only felt hollow. 

Gisla must have lost track of how long she'd been kneeling there, for Rosamund was there, urging her to come and eat a bit before the rigors of the day. Reluctantly, she allowed herself to be helped to her feet, fed a little bread, and dressed. 

She had chosen to dress all in white, the color of deepest mourning. 

When she was ready, a man brought in a tiny coffin that had been made overnight. The women brought the baby in, dressed in one of the little gowns that Gisla had made for him herself. Father Fredegar had come back to lead the procession, and then the people left Rollo and Gisla alone to say goodbye to their son.

Gisla lingered at the coffin, praying over the child, and taking one last look. His face was so sweet -- surely he would have been a good-tempered child. At last Rollo placed his hand on her shoulder, gently touched the child's tiny forehead with his other hand, and whispered that everyone was waiting. 

"He must have a cross." She reached into her collar and pulled out her mother's cross, kissed it and began to lift it from her neck. 

“No, you must keep your mother’s cross. I will give him mine.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she nodded gratefully. She didn't really want to part with her mother's cross, but also wanted her son to have something more meaningful than one of her other crosses would be. His father's first cross meant something. 

Rollo pulled out the cords that held his cross and his wolf pendant, and Gisla saw that he fumbled for a moment untangling them. Then as he separated the cross from the wolf, he stood looking at the wolf, as if considering whether to place it in the coffin as well. He looked over to Gisla and she could see the question in his eyes. She nodded – it might be pagan, but it was right for him to give something of his own heritage. And Rollo had explained that the wolf was his fylgja, his spirit animal, so it was comforting that the animal that protected him, protected their son. She saw a little clearing of his eyes as he reached gently into the coffin with the two gifts. 

She helped him to place the cross in the blankets that wrapped the baby's body, tucking the chain into the folds. Rollo slipped the wolf pendant beneath the folds, out of sight, and leaned down to kiss the baby on the forehead. Gisla stifled a sob at the tender gesture, then repeated it herself, whispering a little prayer of rest to him before she rose.

Then she took a deep breath and backed away, calling to Rosamund that they were ready. Some of the women went to the baby and sewed shut his tiny shroud, while others came and fixed Gisla's veil over her face. Gisla was glad that she could hide some of her grief behind the veil, for she did not think she would be able to be very strong during the funeral.

The men that Rollo had selected to honor the child at the funeral now came in and waited for the priest to give instructions. Sinric translated to Rollo's men, and then took Rollo aside.

Gisla heard vaguely that Sinric was requesting not to attend the funeral. Rollo protested, saying that he might need Sinric to explain the funeral service. Gisla interrupted, for she could see that Sinric was nearly as overcome with grief as she was. “He doesn’t need to come – you will understand enough. It is too much to ask him to be there.”

Rollo turned back to Sinric and apologized, putting his hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, friend, sometimes I forget your own grief. Thank you for your help today.” 

Then he turned to Halvar, who lifted the tiny coffin and followed the priest as he led the small procession to the church.

As they walked through the streets to the cathedral, Gisla heard Rollo murmuring in disbelief. "So many people." She looked up and saw that the pathway was lined with mourners, sharing in their grief. As they reached the church and the coffin was placed before the altar, some of the women came forth and placed flowers on it, crossing themselves and saying prayers for the baby. Others brought flowers to Gisla and offered words of comfort and told her they would pray for the child's soul. Gisla was so overwhelmed by their kindness that she could not speak, but nodded and clutched the flowers to her. She heard Rollo saying words of thanks to them.

 

~~ 

 

Rollo was astounded by the number of people who had turned out for the ceremony. He was amazed that after such a short time in Rouen, Gisla had already inspired such love and loyalty from the people.

He was grateful that the service was short, for he did not think that Gisla could endure anything more – and in truth, nor could he. Her ladies had discouraged her from even attending, but Gisla would not hear of staying behind in bed during her own child's funeral, especially when she had requested it. She stood beside Rollo stoically all during the ceremony, gripping the flowers she'd been given. He could see that beneath her veil, tears streamed down her face. His own chest was tight as he held his feelings in check.

When the time came, he walked forward with Gisla and watched as she placed the flowers on the small coffin. She stood there for a moment, and he realized that she was murmuring the words to a prayer. Then she crossed herself and turned away, groping for him as if blinded by her tears. He took her arm and gently led her away. He wondered if he should call for a litter for her, but she walked steadily beside him, grasping his arm tightly with both hands. 

They walked slowly back to the palace and Rosamund immediately took charge and insisted that Gisla go to bed. Gisla did not protest, but glanced up at Rollo. He nodded approvingly, and she turned to the women and allowed herself to be led away.

Rollo's men had attended the Christian ceremony, but still wished to drink the traditional funeral ale with him. Rollo asked Sinric to explain the custom to the Frankish men in the barracks, and went to join his Norse brothers. It was of some comfort to hear their words, improvised as they were for a stillborn child. They spoke of the boy being adept at hunting in Helgafjell, where no doubt he would be honored and respected. 

Rollo reflected that despite the grief that he felt, this was a different sort of grief than his drunken madness when losing Siggy. He had something to live for, someone who needed him. 

After a time, Halvar commented that the men should not spend the entire day drinking or the Franks would not understand. So he organized the usual sparring with all the men, saying that Lord Rollo had requested that they get on with their usual routine.

Rollo himself had no heart for sparring or any other sort of work, so he wandered into the great hall where he found Pepin, struggling with a whittling project. He sat down and took up his own whittling. They sat for some time without talking.

Pepin had attended the funeral with them, walking behind them, carrying flowers of his own which he had placed on the little coffin with great solemnity. Now he sat quietly by Rollo attempting to whittle. He was poor at it still, being just a boy and very new to it, but Rollo had been teaching him. 

"My lord, I want to make something for Her Highness. Do you think she would like that?"

Rollo looked up, startled. He had been thinking the same thing. But he had no real conscious plan of what that could be. Gisla was not one to collect material things before this great loss, so he did not suppose that she would be one to do so now. But a gift from the heart – and hands – of one close to her would be another matter. "Yes, I think she would like anything that you made for her. What do you want to make?"

"A bear. I heard her sometimes call the baby 'small bear' so maybe she would like that?"

Rollo felt a little shiver pass over him – he recalled when Gisla had called the child this for the first time. Would this cause her more grief? He looked down into the earnest face of the boy and decided that it would not. "Very well. I will help you."

They worked together for some time, shaping the little figure. Pepin seemed quite determined to do most of it himself, so Rollo sat back and worked on his own without really thinking about it. 

"What are you making, my lord?"

Rollo looked down at the little piece of wood in his hand and realized that without intending it, he had been carving a little figure of a child. His son. He could not speak, so he showed the piece to Pepin, whose eyes widened as he began nodding in approval. Then he turned in more determination than ever to his own creation. A boy and his bear. Perhaps that was his son's fylgja. It comforted him to think so.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/ydcumRl)

~~

I’m sorry this chapter ends so sadly. But Part 2 of this chapter, which is a little more hopeful, is nearly finished and will be posted very soon.

~~

Notes:

Wording of Clothild’s farewell in her letter (“Fare thee as well as I fare”) – this is from a medieval letter found [here](http://www.dragonbear.com/letters.html).

Miscarriage/Stillbirth – Gisla is about six months along (about 24 weeks – the baby is about 12” long and weighs about 2 pounds) in her pregnancy when she loses the baby. Today this is called a miscarriage (also called “spontaneous abortion” or “pregnancy loss”) if it happens before 20 weeks and a stillbirth if it occurs from 20 weeks on. The symptoms of a stillbirth are vaginal bleeding, abdominal cramping and passing of clots. But pregnant women can have all sorts of cramping that does not lead to a miscarriage or stillbirth since various things stimulate the uterus to contract including a full bladder, an orgasm, exercise, or a urinary tract infection. So Gisla’s initial lack of concern would be realistic; unfortunately, for her the cramps grew worse and she lost the baby. 

The causes of a large percentage of stillbirths is still unknown, even with modern testing and autopsy methods. Some possible causes of stillbirth are bacterial infection, birth defects (especially incomplete development of the lungs) chromosomal aberrations, growth retardation, maternal diabetes, and physical trauma, among others. I would suppose that during the Middle Ages many more miscarriages and stillbirths would occur from infection, poor nutrition, and lack of prenatal care. 

More information on these topics (click): [Stillbirth ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stillbirth), [ cramping during pregnancy](http://www.parents.com/pregnancy/my-body/aches-pains/cramping-during-pregnancy/), [The Symptoms of a Second Trimester Miscarriage](http://www.babymed.com/complications/second-trimester-miscarriage), [Understanding late miscarriage](http://www.babycentre.co.uk/a1014773/understanding-late-miscarriage), [Baby development](http://www.webmd.com/baby/4to6-months).

Helgafjell – the "holy mountain" was one idea of the afterlife which appears in West Norse sources. In the holy mountain, the members of the Norse clans would lead lives similar to the ones they had lived in the world of the living. Some psychic people could look into the mountain and what they saw was not intimidating, but instead it was a scene with a warm hearth, drinking and talking. Warriors who died in battle could go to the more famous Valhalla, (those chosen by Odin), or to Fólkvangr, “field of the host” or “army-field," (chosen by the goddess Freyja). There is also the concept of death as the embrace of the Sea Goddess Rán and her daughters, who during storms sometimes catch men in their nets and take them to their watery realm. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_in_Norse_paganism) and [here](https://odinia.org/tag/viking-ship-burial/).

Frigg – As the wife of Odin, Frigg is one of the foremost goddesses of Norse mythology. She is the patron of marriage and motherhood, and the goddess of love and fertility. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frigg).

Catholic doctrine regarding stillborn children, baptism, and burial – Current doctrine says that the soul of a stillborn child, or a child that dies as an infant goes straight to Heaven, so no baptism is needed. But apparently this was not always the case. The following quotations on these themes are from the book, _Growing Up in the Middle Ages_ by Paul B. Newman, found [here](https://goo.gl/NDPv8K). Another interesting source is the show “Medieval Lives Episode 1: Birth, Marriage, Death,” summarized [here](http://www.theanneboleynfiles.com/helen-castors-medieval-lives-birth-marriage-death-episode-1-good-birth/%20).

Page 30:  
_...if the baby was stillborn or died so soon after delivery that it could not be baptized, his soul was condemned to hell, forever. This belief was closely held by most medieval Christians._

Page 31:  
_In the early 13th century, the Church formally changed its doctrine and, instead of being consigned to hell, the souls of unbaptized infants were now believed to reside in limbo._

Page 21:  
_As the prohibitions against burying unbaptized infants in church cemeteries suggest, baptism was of critical importance in Christian medieval European society. Under Christian beliefs, only those persons who had been baptized in the name of Christ had any chance of entering heaven. Thus, parents wanted their children baptized. Under strict application of the Church's doctrines, if the mother and baby died during the birth before the baby could be baptized, the baby had to be removed from the mother's body before she could be buried in the parish cemetery. The cemetery was consecrated ground and only Christians could be buried there, Since the baby had not been baptized, he had not yet become a Christian and could not be buried in holy ground. However, a number of skeletons excavated from medieval cemeteries prove that this requirement was sometimes ignored and the mother and infant were simply buried together. There is also evidence that distraught families entered cemeteries at night and secretly buried their children who died during or immediately after birth and had not been baptized._

p. 74:  
_Medieval burial practices for children indicate that they were typically accorded the same respect and dignity as adults. Royal and noble children received funerals befitting their rank, which could include ceremonies conducted in one of the great cathedrals and interment in a desirable burial chamber, such as one located in the cathedral’s floor._

So for the purposes of this story, I am assuming that someone of Gisla’s rank and status could insist upon the baptism and formal burial of her stillborn child despite the policy of the Church at the time. I also read (see the second link above) that midwives had the right to do emergency baptisms (and in modern times, any Christian can baptize someone) so I am guessing that there were likely many situations in which a kindly midwife baptized a stillborn child and kept it quiet that the child was not alive for the baptism. I can only imagine the distress prospective parents must have felt regarding whether their babies’ souls would be saved if they died before being baptized. Some believed in something called “baptism of desire.” [Bernard of Clairvaux](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bernard_of_Clairvaux%0A) (1090-1153) wrote about this to a couple who wondered about the fate of their child: 

_Your faith spoke for this child. Baptism for this child was only delayed by time. Your faith suffices. The waters of your womb—were they not the waters of life for this child? Look at your tears. Are they not like the waters of baptism? Do not fear this. God’s ability to love is greater than our fears. Surrender everything to God._ Read more [here](http://www.ncregister.com/blog/scottericalt/4-reasons-i-do-not-believe-in-the-limbo-of-infants/#ixzz4EGS5XS3Y) and [here](http://www.thecatholictelegraph.com/the-catholic-moment-your-faith-spoke-for-this-child/1588).

For Catholic liturgy on baptism, including more of the words that ended with the priest’s blessing in my story, see [here](http://www.catholicliturgy.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/textcontents/index/4/subindex/67/textindex/7).

By the way, in case you were wondering why the priest didn’t administer “last rites” to the baby, it is because this is also just for the living. It involves three sacraments of the Church given to people who are perceived near death, Penance, the Anointing of the Sick, and the Eucharist. The last rites are meant to prepare the dying person's soul for death by providing absolution for sins by penance, sacramental grace and prayers for the relief of suffering through anointing, and the final administration of the Eucharist, known as "Viaticum", which is Latin for "with you on the way.” More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Last_rites).

Warning – Outlander Season 2 spoiler! I wanted to mention that most of this chapter was written before I saw the recent “Outlander” episode “Faith” (207). But having seen it and been moved by it so much, I confess that I did borrow from it somewhat, particularly in using Ermengarde to coax Gisla to give up the baby – the motivation was a little more complicated, as I see Ermengarde as desirous of holding and mourning the baby herself, as well as helping her lady to rest and move towards closure. Miscarriage and stillbirth was all too common during the time periods of both shows, so it is sadly realistic for this to happen.

Norns – goddesses or spirits who spin the threads of life into people’s fate; also Frigg is the spinning goddess who knows the fate of all men. It was believed that norns could visit newborns and that some were malevolent and others benevolent. I am supposing that Rollo might believe that a malevolent one could have visited their unborn child. More information [here,](http://kws.atlantia.sca.org/dieties.html) [here,](http://norse-mythology.org/?s=norns) and [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norns).

Hlín – Norse goddess of protection. More information [here](https://simple.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hl%C3%ADn).

Urðr – fate, one of the Norns. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ur%C3%B0r).

“White mourning” (“Deuil blanc”) – the wearing of white as deepest mourning was a custom among medieval European queens, at least as far back as the 1390s in Paris. I have supposed that the custom could have started earlier and had Gisla practice it. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mourning#White_mourning).

Rollo's Christian name -- Rollo was actually baptized in Rouen, by Archbishop Franco, as "Robert," according to many sources. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rollo).

Fylgja -- in Norse mythology, a spirit who accompanies a person in connection to their fate or fortune. It may be in animal form, and may be described as the extension of an aspect or characteristic of a particular family. They seem to embody the spirit, and guide the one they choose or work deeds for them. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fylgja).

Funeral ale -- I borrowed this from the larger discussion of Norse funeral rites, figuring that since Rollo and his men had transplanted themselves into a Christian environment, and that the deceased had not lived a long and respected life as some great chieftain, at least in this world, they would at least keep some semblance of Norse ritual. The drinking of funeral ale began on the seventh day after the person had died when the people celebrated the sjaund (the ale and the feast with ritual drinking). It marked the passage of the inheritance on to the heirs. I have supposed that in the traditional funeral, the drinkers would speak highly of the dead during their drinking, so I had Rollo's men saying such things about his son in the afterlife. More information [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norse_funeral#Funeral_ale_and_the_passing_of_inheritance).

Disclaimer: I have deliberately left the prayers and funeral service rather vague; I wanted the focus to be on the story more than the details this time. 


	21. The Princess and the Bear and the Child Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Rollo and Gisla seek solace in the aftermath of the loss of their child.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Notes: My warm thanks to Swimmingfox, Undertheskyline, Windchimed, for their editing contributions to this chapter, and to Lauredessine for her beautiful artistic depictions of scenes with Gisla and Rollo.  
> As always, comments are greatly appreciated and spur me forward.  
>   
>   
> 

~~

  
[](http://imgur.com/3CkKmv8)

  


~~ 

 

During the next days Gisla tried to rouse herself from the grief that seemed to consume her. She visited the grave of her child each morning, then devoted herself to quiet tasks around the palace. She began going to the garden, finding solace in planting and tending the flowers there. 

One afternoon, Gisla found Sinric there, sitting on a little garden wall. She had been vaguely aware that Sinric was not himself, from something Rollo had said, but she had not spoken to him herself. She scarcely spoke to anyone now.

But as she came closer to where Sinric was sitting, he rose as if to leave.

"Your Highness. I would not disturb you."

"You will not disturb me. Please stay."

He sat down again and seemed to be watching her as she tended to one of the flowerbeds. 

“It is time for me to be thinking of going.” 

She looked up in surprise. “But I have said you do not disturb me."

There was silence for a moment. "No. I mean from Rouen. From Frankia."

"Go? But where?” She felt a rising panic.

“Anywhere. I’m a wanderer, after all.”

She felt stricken – unable to bear losing someone else. "But you can't go. We need you here." She knew she sounded like a child but could not keep the pleading out of her voice.

"You don't need me anymore. Rollo speaks Frankish very well now – and you are learning Norse. He can continue to teach you."

She realized that he was right – but that she felt the potential loss just as keenly despite it. "But we do need you. Not as an interpreter. As a friend. Please don't go."

He looked flustered and must have seen the desperation in her eyes, for he relented, saying, "I can stay a while longer, of course. Please do not be troubled."

Feeling a little guilty, but vastly relieved, she sank back to the garden wall and just sat there staring at the flowers. "Thank you," she murmured.

That night Gisla dreamed about her son again. It was nearly the same dream as before, but now she could only see him in the distance, and he just called to her, asking her to come. She awoke, looking about for him, then realized that he was gone. She would have risen and gone to the church that very moment, but Rollo stilled her. He listened as she explained the dream and assured her that she could go to the grave in the morning. She accepted his edict reluctantly, and lay awake in his arms waiting for daylight to come. She wondered if daylight would ever truly come again for her.

 

~~ 

 

Several weeks passed, and Rollo was growing increasingly concerned about Gisla. Every day since the funeral she had been visiting the church, attending prayer services, then staying to pray at the child's grave, sometimes for many hours. Rollo had spoken to her about it, expressing his worry for her health, but she had only looked at him vacantly, saying that she still saw the child in her dreams -- that he called to her and she must go to him. 

She showed no interest in her usual daily concerns, including her beloved hospital, which she seemed now to associate with further grief. 

One morning Rollo brought her letters from the courier. He hoped that kind words from loved ones in Paris might help her. But when he brought the letters to the table she showed no interest.

"But Gisla, this one has the royal privy seal, does it not? Surely your father has some words of comfort?"

Gisla stared at it but made no move to take it. "I do not believe I could stand to read my father's words of comfort."

Recalling the tone of some of the king's previous letters, Rollo supposed that it was better that he put that one aside. "But this one, it has Roland's seal on it – it will be from Clothild, won't it? Her letters are always kind."

Glancing at the letter, Gisla looked wistful, but then shook her head. "I don't think I can bear even her sincere words – it would have been so joyous to share the news if he had only lived. Please put the private letters aside. I will read them later. Send the others to the palace minister."

And so Rollo put away the letters. But he did not see Gisla ever touch them in the many days that passed after that.

Rollo attended mass and prayer services more often with Gisla than he had before the loss of the child. One morning, after mass, Gisla stopped at the child's grave, as she did every time they were there, and knelt there to pray. As Rollo stood waiting for her, he heard a woman's voice behind him.

"How she carries on. You would think a woman had never lost a child before!"

He turned, shocked at the harshness of the voice, and saw one of the noble women from the wealthier part of the city. She looked startled that he'd seemingly heard, but still haughty. He did not hide his disgust at her lack of sympathy and patience. He glanced at his wife and back to the woman. "She _is_ a woman who has never lost a child before. It grieves her deeply. Do not the high born women of Rouen mourn their children?" 

The woman blanched and bowed to him, and the women around her murmured apologies and condolences, then melted away. 

Rollo turned back to Gisla to see if she'd heard, but it seemed that she was rapt in prayer. He waited for a time, then sank to his knees beside her, said a quick prayer himself, and then gently urged her to come with him. She reluctantly rose and took his arm. 

As they walked out he looked about for others who might disapprove of Gisla's ongoing grief. He saw no one. Perhaps those women were rare, but he continued to worry about Gisla – would she make herself ill with such prolonged mourning?

The next day Rollo came to a determination. After making his rounds to check on the battlements, he stopped at the cathedral and requested to meet with the archbishop. He was surprised that the man agreed to speak to him that very day.

"My lord, how can I be of assistance?"

"Your Grace, I am concerned about my wife. You know she comes here nearly every day, praying and mourning the child."

"You do not approve? But she came to the church quite regularly before this."

"It is not that. I know she is very devout. But she is not well. She grows thin and tired – she hardly eats and sleeps very little. She wakes with dreams of the child – she says that he calls to her. She feels she must come to his grave to be with him. Surely this is not normal?"

The older man shook his head slowly, considering. At last he spoke. "My lord, I see your concern. The lady Rosamund has also expressed her worry for Her Highness. But it is not unusual for the bereft to seek solace in prayer."

"Solace, yes, but she gets none. Each day she seems more disturbed, not more at peace. Can this be God's will? I do not understand why God would send a vision as He did in Gisla's dream before, only to take the child away from her. And then to send more visions to cause her grief to linger?”

“As for the visions, I cannot answer for what the Lord means by them. But Princess Gisla will surely come to understand them in time."

"What if she doesn't have time? What if God takes her as well? Can you not speak to her, Father? She will listen to you."

Archbishop Franco nodded. "Yes, I will speak with her, perhaps it is time. I have not liked to disturb her, but you may be right that she endangers herself. Leave it to me, my lord."

Rollo studied the man, decided that he was sincere, and thanked him. He hoped that Gisla would listen to him.

 

~~ 

 

The next day as Gisla left the prayer service to place flowers at the baby's grave, the archbishop approached. 

"Your Highness, might I speak with you?"

"Of course, Father." She quickly placed the flowers on the grave, said a few words of prayer, crossed herself, and followed him to his sitting room.

After they were seated, the archbishop began. "Your Highness, I see how greatly the loss of your child has grieved you. You are here every day praying for him. This is a proper thing to do, but it has gone on too long. It is bordering on sin, how you devote yourself only to this each day."

"Sin? Oh, Father, how can it be? When he cries out to me each night, calling for me? Do I really offend God by coming to the side of my child?" Tears were welling in her eyes and she was struck to the core with the horror that this could be true.

The archbishop spoke in calming words. "No, my child, I do not think this. But it seems to many that you wish to follow your child to Heaven too soon. You do not eat, nor sleep. If God had meant to take you with the child, you would have been taken in childbed."

Gisla gasped. "Oh, Father, you believe I wish to die? I – I do not – I have not intended such. I would not!" She raised her veil to look at him intently and saw that he was nodding, looking as if he believed her. "I only wish to be near him, pray for him to rest in peace. How can I rest when he does not?"

"My lady, every prayer has been said, mass has been held, and candles are lit daily for him. He is surely at rest."

"But the dreams? Why does he call out to me? It is as if he needs me."

"How does he appear in the dreams? Is he afraid, weeping, can you tell?"

"It is always the same. He is in the woods alone in the mist, calling to me, 'Mama, Mama, are you coming? Why do you not come?'" 

The archbishop was silent for a few moments, considering. "Perhaps this only means that he expects to see you one day in Heaven. You must tell him that you are coming, but that it is not yet your time. That he must go ahead of you and do God's bidding without you until then."

Gisla sat up a little straighter in hearing this. "How can I speak to him?"

"In your prayers. I believe that if you pray this way, he will stop calling you. Ask God to take your child's hand and lead him further into the light. It may be that in your grief, you misinterpreted your son's call and you are keeping him from God's appointed task."

"Oh! I did not think of that. I am keeping him from rest?"

"Perhaps. And you are being kept from the tasks that God has set for you. There are many others who need you, as you know."

She bowed her head in contrition. "Yes, Your Grace. I have neglected the hospital and my other duties.”

“And your lord husband has been very worried for you. It is he who came to me to express his concerns for you. He has shown great progress in his faith – you have helped to lead him in this. Your task there is yet unfinished.”

Gisla was surprised by this. Rollo had come to seek advice from the archbishop? And the archbishop thought he was becoming a good Christian? "Yes, Your Grace. He does try. He is a good husband to me."

"Well, then, you must relieve him of his worry for you. Go home – rest, eat, sleep. Do nothing else for seven days. Or until the Lady Rosamund tells you that you are well enough to go about your duties again. I give you special dispensation to pray from your bed, from your chair – anywhere but your knees – and not here. Gain strength so that you may resume your duties – then you may return here to attend services as before."

"Yes, Your Grace." She glanced back towards where the grave lay in the transept of the cathedral. 

The archbishop must have seen the longing in her glance. "And my lady, think of this. Already there are other women who have lost children who come here to pray at your son's grave. Perhaps a little chapel may be built there. Candles will be kept lit day and night for him – and for all the other children that God has seen fit to take. It will be a place where all mothers may come to pray for their children to rest in peace, and to receive comfort in their loss. Shall that be done?"

Gisla’s heart leapt. "Yes, Father, this would comfort me to know that others might gain peace here. I will endow this chapel."

"Good. It will do great good for the people of Rouen. Go now, my child, and be at peace. Know that the candles will always be lit. I will see to that. And when you hear the bells for each prayer service, you may know that someone will say a prayer for your child. Will you go now to rest as I believe God commands?"

"Yes, Father. Thank you for your counsel."

The archbishop blessed her and called for her servants and guards to escort her back to the palace. 

 

~~ 

 

That evening Rollo returned to find that Gisla was not in the sitting room. Rosamund came out from the bedchamber.

"Where is Gisla? Is she at the church this late?" He had hoped the archbishop would speak to her, but perhaps he was not able to today. Or Gisla had not listened to him.

"She is sleeping." 

"Sleeping? Is she ill?"

"Only as she has been these last weeks. Ill with grief. It seems the archbishop spoke to her today – I don't know what he said to her, but she came back here much earlier than usual, very quiet, asked for some bread and soup, and then went to bed."

"Good, good. I will leave her to rest." He looked in on her, saw that she was very still and could just hear her breathing in sleep. 

"Shall I send for some supper for you?"

"Later – send for some for Gisla. I will eat with the men."

Rosamund bowed in acquiescence and went back to sit with Gisla.

Rollo was pleased that whatever the archbishop had said, Gisla was taking it to heart. He thanked God for hearing his prayer – and sent a little prayer to Eir for good measure. His own heart was lighter than it had been in weeks. He went down to join his men for supper.

Later he went back to the room, pulled a chair near to Gisla, and whittled. After a little while, he heard her stir.

“Rollo.”

He looked up from his work and smiled at her. “Good evening. Are you hungry?”

She looked at him for a moment as if considering. “A little.”

“Come and eat with me. Or shall I bring it to you in bed?”

“No, I will come. I am not ill.”

He stood and moved his chair closer to the table, and pulled out her chair for her. As she went to sit, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and kissed her on the top of her head.

She smiled up at him, then sat down, said a little prayer for her meal, and took some bread. 

Rollo poured her some wine.

“Did you already eat? It seems late.”

“Yes, I ate with the men. I did not want to disturb you. But I will sit with you as you eat.”

“Thank you.”

She ate in silence for a bit, and he returned to his whittling, only sneaking a raspberry now and then. 

From time to time he glanced at her and saw that she seemed calmer, more normal.

“Something is different with you tonight.”

She looked up, and then nodded. “The archbishop spoke with me today.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“He made me realize that I was growing selfish, even sinful in my continued mourning.”

“He said that? You are not selfish, you are the least selfish person I have known. And how can it be sinful to mourn your child? In my land, we sometimes mourn for weeks.” He suddenly had mixed feelings about his conversation with the archbishop.

“He did not say it that way, but I came to believe that it was so. He was worried that I might be trying to follow the child to Heaven.”

“Ah, yes. I too was worried that you might. But you will not, I pray?” He looked at her earnestly.

She nodded slowly, but firmly. “No. Nor will I go so often to the church. The archbishop reminded me that I have duties to attend to: the palace, the hospital. That I am needed. By the people of the city and here in the palace….” Her voice dropped. “By you.” 

There was a warmth in her eyes that Rollo had not seen before. He reached for her hand and she put it in his. For the first time in weeks, he felt hope that she would recover. 

 

~~ 

 

For the next week or so, Gisla followed the guidance of the archbishop. She slept late, did only quiet reading or needlework in her room, took naps during the day, and ate more robustly, though still not to Rosamund's satisfaction. She prayed from her bed or her big chair, and while she still felt her child needed her, she did not return to the church, except for Sunday mass. She prayed as the archbishop asked her to, telling the child she would see him one day in Heaven, and asking the Holy Father to lead the child to His refuge. The dreams – both to her dismay and relief – stopped. She longed to see her son's precious face, but no longer heard his calls beckoning her. She began to believe it must be well with him. 

Rollo was always patient and gentle with her. He often led her to the balcony where they sat together on warm evenings. He made no demands on her, just whittled and told her about the things he did during the day. Sometimes he told her about customs in his country, particularly the celebration of Winternights, when it was believed that the dead were closer to the living. People visited graves, placing offerings there to remember the dead and commune with them. He explained his people’s vision of Heaven, Helgafjell, the Holy Mountain where those who were not warriors went to live in peace. Rollo seemed to find it comforting to talk this way, and she realized that it was how he dealt with his own grief. As she listened, despite her concern for its paganism, she too began to find it comforting to think that the dead might always be near and that they lived in such a homelike place of serenity.

Now that she was stronger, and calmer, she ventured to see the child's grave again, which had now been made part of the chapel that was being built in the transept of the cathedral. Her heart welled up to see that a statue of the Holy Mother had been placed there. As she approached, she saw that Sinric was there, and was laying flowers on the gravestone. 

A pang of guilt struck her, for she had perhaps forced him into staying beyond his desire to be here. "Thank you for coming here, Sinric."

He looked up, a little startled, and gave her a sad smile. "Of course. I am sorry that I could not attend the child's funeral. It was too painful."

"You have nothing to apologize for. It is I who should apologize for trying to keep you here."

"I should not have spoken about leaving when I did. But it was all getting too familiar again. That is when I have always moved on."

She spoke gently. “I understand. Of course you must do what is best for your heart, for your life. I have been selfish in my grief.”

He rushed to defend her. "Of course you would grieve the loss of a child, just as I did. No one blames you for that."

“But I did not think of how others would be affected. That I must be strong for them. I caused Rollo great worry. I am better now.”

“I am glad. But please do not think that I go because of you. I would go because I cannot let my heart love too much again – it will not stand being broken again.”

She took a deep breath, trying to be selfless. “I will not try to stop you, but I do wish you would reconsider. Not because we need you to interpret, but because you are our dear friend and we want you here with us. You are important to us – you helped to bring Rollo and I together. You will always have a place here. I thank you for staying so long.” 

Sinric nodded. “I will think on it.” He stayed while she laid her flowers and together they prayed silently by the grave.

The days went by, and Gisla felt stronger and more at peace. One evening, Rollo came in early before supper. "Gisla, it is warmer tonight – will you walk with me in the garden?"

She looked up from her prayer book and nodded. She had missed the garden.

Soon they were walking down one of the newly-made stone paths. Rollo had taken her arm and seemed to be leading her. She did not mind where they went. She took in the verdant smells of evening, and the beauty around her. 

He stopped some distance from the house and pointed straight in front of them. There was a gap in the rows of shrubs, and in the distance were tree-covered hills. "Here. The perfect spot. And you can see it from our window."

“Perfect for what?”

“For the tree we will plant in memory of the child. Do you not think so?”

She was moved, a strong feeling welling up inside of her. Something she had not felt sure of before for Rollo. “Yes.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. 

He put his arm around her and rested his head lightly on hers. 

She thought for a time, and then said, low, “Rollo.” 

He moved his head slightly to see her face as she spoke.

“You know I can be very slow to love.”

He nodded.

“But when I do, I love fiercely.” She whispered the last word with fervor.

“As with the child.” He nodded against her head.

“Yes. And you.”

He seemed confused at first. "Yes, I–" He looked at her with surprise in his eyes. "You mean–"

She put her arms around him and embraced him with all the love she felt. "Yes." 

He squeezed her tightly then, and she felt his heart pounding against her as she rested her head on his chest. Together they stood looking at the place where the tree would be planted.

After a while, she whispered, shyly, "At first I didn't allow myself to love you. I thought it would make me weak. I hid my feelings, even from myself. But now I see that it makes me stronger. Then I was afraid to say it – I did not think it proper. I am sorry that it took me so long."

He looked down at her and smiled. "Something that has been waited for is even more precious when it comes." 

He kissed her tenderly and she felt a thrill rush through her that she'd not felt before. Was this at last the love that people spoke of? The grief that she had carried with her seemed to lift a bit more, and she felt a swell of hope in her heart. She thanked God for His Grace in that despite their loss, He had given them this precious gift.

 

~~

  
[](http://imgur.com/rNFQdOP)

 

[Art by Lauredessine](http://birdy0fly.deviantart.com)

  


~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eir – Norse goddess of healing
> 
> Winter Nights (vetrnætr)– Norse holidays, the three days which begin the winter season, parallels the Celtic celebration of Samhain, which was later co-opted by Christianity as All Saints Day/All Souls Day, eventually known as Halloween. [More here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winter_Nights) and [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Samhain)
> 
> Graves in chapels – there are many graves of important people inside European churches, especially the royalty and nobility. They would be placed in the floor in particular sections of the church, or beneath the church in crypts. Sometimes chapels were built around these graves. There were also churchyards where special graves were made.
> 
> I ran across a very interesting article reporting on an archeological find in a church in Frankfurt, Germany. It’s short and sweet (in more ways than one), so I decided to just include it here.
> 
> _Archaeologists say the circumstances of the death and double burial of two little children who died in Medieval Frankfurt, Germany, will probably never be known. One of the children had an apparently royal Merovingian, Christian burial, and the other a pagan Scandinavian burial. The children were honored many years after their death by careful placement of a royal chapel around their grave._
> 
> _Their remains were found in 1992, and archaeologists are just now releasing the results of the scientific examination of the bodies and gravesite. The team announced the children were buried sometime between 700 and 730 AD. The grave is in a priest’s residence, the priory of a tiny church at what later would become the Frankfurt Cathedral in the 1300s._
> 
> _“One can assume they played a significant role in this aristocratic class in Frankfurt,” he said. “... We know of a number of these Adelsheiligen [noble saints] in the early Middle Ages. Educated, high-class people had easier access to saintly status.”_
> 
> _The girl’s high status was clearly evident by the clothing she was dressed in, including a tunic and shawl; and jewelry for her ears, fingers, arms, neck and chest made of gold, silver, bronze and precious stones._
> 
> _The other child had a necklace that was a copy of a Scandinavian amulet. That and the fact that the cremated remains were mixed with bear bones show close ties between northern Europe and the Germanic tribes. These ties, The Local says, had been developing in the 7th century AD._
> 
> [Article found here](http://www.ancient-origins.net/news-history-archaeology/double-medieval-child-burial-one-pagan-one-christian-mystifies-german-020534).
> 
> ~~


	22. The Princess and the Bear and the Honeymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Rollo and Gisla celebrate their love.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  For Swimmingfox, who inspired the second part, and helped me to streamline the story with her excellent editing skills, as always. Thanks to UndertheSkyline for her story editing and picset advice. Thanks to Windchimed for her eagle-eyed proof-reading and story-element advice. And thanks to Lauredessine, for reminding me about one little bit of dialog that I had nearly forgotten – and for the beautiful art pieces, coming up after each part of the story. I’ve saved the best for last!  
>   
> As always, comments are greatly appreciated and spur me onward!  
>   
>   
> ~~
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/Uohbytk)
> 
>  

~~

Several weeks had passed, and Rollo was enormously content. He had never felt so elated as he did when Gisla had shared her feelings with him. He had nearly given up on her really coming to love him – he had thought that the closest he would get would be through her love for the child. 

Though they both still mourned the child, and visited his grave each week after mass, the planting of the tree had lifted some of the heaviness of their grief. They both had faith, albeit somewhat different ways of seeing it, that their son lived on in another realm. Gisla had laid off her white mourning clothes, though she still wore only plain gowns in muted colors. 

And now, Rollo had Gisla’s love. While he’d worked tirelessly from the very start to get the city fortified and to train the men for the pending attack, he found that it had all the more meaning now. The prophecy had come true, beyond his wildest dreams – he had land, a title, position, and a loving wife. Each evening when he came back from working with the men, his heart grew lighter and lighter knowing he’d soon be with her. 

And some days she came to him. As the days of late spring and early summer grew increasingly warmer, she came with the servants who brought the men cool drinks. She would supervise their distribution, always glancing with shy eyes at him as if she were only just meeting him for the first time. It delighted and fascinated him. Sometimes she stayed to watch them train, but when he looked up, her eyes were always on him. 

And she did other little things as well. She embroidered a wolf – his wolf – onto a new tunic for him. And when he wore it for the first time, he found dragées in the pocket. He’d wondered why she’d given him a sly smile that morning. And the crowning glory was her magnificent gift to him: a new pendant – a cross and wolf blended into one. He had been stunned. He wore it with the greatest of pride.

Now they spoke more freely in the evenings, walked arm in arm more naturally. She actually took _his_ arm sometimes when they met in the evening. And she – albeit shyly – would lay her head on his shoulder as they stood together or lay together as they were falling asleep. 

He wondered what it would be like when they could have sex again. He knew that they must wait for the forty days to pass since the child had come and for when the midwife told Gisla she was well enough. But what would Gisla be like when it was time? Would she tell him? Or would she expect him to know or ask, and to initiate their reunion? 

He felt more patience for this than he might have expected. Though of course he longed for her, he found that her love for him had filled an aching hole in his heart that made him immensely patient. He wanted to please her in all the ways that he could. 

So they spent the evenings walking in the garden or sitting on the balcony. They spoke of the doings in the palace and throughout the city. And they began the organization of an orphanage, which she had requested they endow. It would be named for little Robert. 

One evening, Rollo came home a little late, and found her already in her nightclothes. He smiled to see her crimson dressing gown, for he loved her best in that color. She had already eaten, but had kept food for him so that he might eat before they slept. As she often did, she sat with him, working on her sewing, while he ate. 

He told her about his day – they had completed a new section of the city wall and he was particularly happy about that, just a bit closer to having a full defense wall as Paris did. 

She had been very quiet, and he wondered if everything was all right. When he asked her, he was surprised that she suddenly blushed. 

“I saw the midwife today.”

“Oh?” He was suddenly worried. “What did she say?”

Gisla smiled shyly. “She said that I am well. She can see no reason why we shouldn’t…resume relations.”

“We can have sex? Now?”

Gisla dipped her head in embarrassment, but nodded. 

He leaped to his feet and caught her hands in his. “Come then.” He began to lead her to the bedchamber.

“But you haven’t finished your supper.”

“I am not hungry – not for food anyway.”

She laughed, and he drew her away into the bedroom.

As they came through the door, he whirled her around, pushed the door closed, and pressed her up against it. He crushed himself to her, starting to kiss her cheek, her neck, her mouth. 

Laughing, she pushed at him gently. “Rollo, wait, please.” 

He sighed and pulled away from her a bit. “Wait? But you have just told me that we need not wait – and now you tell me I must wait more?”

She laughed lightly. “Only for a moment. I want to ask you something.”

“All right.” He took a deep breath and made himself be patient. 

“Do you remember our wedding night?” 

“Of course.” He grew more sober. “You were not happy then.”

She shook her head slowly. “No. And I was afraid. But you were very kind to me. I never thanked you for that.”

“There was no need. I wanted to make you happy – or at least, less afraid.”

She nodded. “Well, I want to make it up to you now.” She looked very self-conscious, and whispered, “I want you to do to me all the things that you did that night, and I will respond as I should have done then.”

He suddenly thought of the food, the wine, her hair, the dressing gown – they were all the same as on their wedding night. A smile spread across his face. “You planned this?” 

She dipped her head bashfully, a smile quirking at her mouth.

“Well, then, may I begin? We have already had our wine.”

She laughed and nodded. 

“I believe I started like this.” He took her in his arms, enjoying the feel of her softness and the fragrance of her perfume near him, kissing her neck, running his hands along her back, resting them about her waist. He smiled as he felt her hands coming around him, stroking his back, drawing him closer as well. _She wanted him_. 

 

~~

 

Gisla found that she could lose herself in Rollo’s kisses, and they had only just begun. His hands moved down her body, touching her, kneading her. He trailed kisses down her neck, lingering behind her ear and she cooed in pleasure, finding it hard to remember to return his touch. She reached up to draw his head down so she could kiss his mouth and was left breathless by how passionately he responded. 

They stood that way for a little while, enjoying each other’s caresses and kisses. Then he turned her gently away from him, clasping her against him. She could feel his hardness against her back – and it excited her. But he went slowly, easing his hands down the front of her robe, touching her breasts, her belly, her hips.

She relaxed against him, lifting her hands above her to glide them along his face, over his beard, through his hair. His hand crept under the fold of her robe and they both breathed in pleasure as he found her naked there and she seemed to melt under his touch. He moved his hand further inside her robe and slid it slowly down over her belly, drawing her to him. She did not resist, but lay comfortably against him, sighing and brushing her hands over him, though she could not really reach all the places she wished. 

He found the ties of her dressing gown and released them, stepping back to gently pull the robe from her. She shivered in anticipation of what he would do next. She felt, rather than heard, his chuckle deep in his chest as he returned and pressed himself to her. Now he kissed her more passionately, letting his hands meander down her body, making her want him all the more. Her own hands, anxious to touch him, groped along his arms, and around his sides, holding him to her.

She gasped as his hand slipped between her legs and she heard him groan as he found her already wet there. Moaning as he moved his hand in circles between her legs, she found herself weak in the knees, losing herself to his movements. She writhed in his arms, almost desperate now to be closer to him, facing him, having him inside her. 

As if he’d heard her thoughts, he dropped slightly and lifted her into his arms. Delighted, she reached for him, and he drew her closer, so that their mouths met once more. 

~~

Rollo bore her to the bed and laid her gently on the sheets. He chuckled as he saw her face flush with embarrassment as he looked at her. For he raked her with his eyes, enjoying the long languid line of her legs, her graceful arms, the ripe roundness of her breasts. She blushed as he lingered there, and he laughed. And though she looked as though she might like to, she did not cover herself. 

As he began to undress, he saw that she was turning her head away slightly, as if still too shy to see him naked – or perhaps, that despite her responsiveness tonight, she still thought it improper. And he realized that she still had never really looked upon him naked. At least not without mead and mushrooms. He chuckled. “Gisla, my love. Please, look at me.”

She turned back to him, surprised, and blushed again as he removed his tunic. He stood before her in just his breeches, smiling down on her. She smiled back at him, her face flushed as he began to untie the lacings of his breeches. But she did not look away. He could not help laughing again as she seemed very uncomfortable watching him undress. He thought of that first night and how he’d imagined that one day she’d look at him with passion burning in her eyes, but realized that she still was not man-eager – and he would have it no other way. She was his beautiful, shy princess and she was watching him because he’d asked her to, because she loved him. _Loved him_.

At last he was naked and could wait no longer. He climbed onto the bed down near her feet, and crawled up her body, kissing every part of her as he went. Little moans and coos came from her throat and he could feel her trembling in anticipation. Her hands were touching him, stroking him, still shyly – until at last he was hovering over her. She was raising herself to try to kiss him, and he melted inside. _She wanted him_. 

He kissed her with more passion than he believed he had ever felt before. Her lips opened under his and he sighed as he explored her mouth, imagining that it was the first time. He felt her arms close tightly around his neck, drawing him down to her. He heard her whisper. “I want you, Rollo.”

And then he could no longer comply with her previous wish that he do _everything_ that he’d done that first night, for he wanted her then as well. He slid his knee between her legs and found that she was parting them for him and he sank down, working hard to control his ferocious need. He wondered if he might still hurt her as if it were the first time.

He probed her gently and she moved in anticipation of him. At first he thought that she still cringed, but then he looked into her face and saw that she was urging him, albeit shyly. He bent back to her, smiled into her mouth as he kissed her, and then eased into her, slowly inching his way deeply into her warmth. She purred in pleasure as he laid himself against her and he began to move. He felt vaguely aware that he had not given her full pleasure yet, but when her hands stole along his back, encircled his waist, he forgot everything else and just moved in her, creating a rhythm that she received with little cries and movements of her own. When at last he groaned his pleasure into her, he heard her laugh a little and felt her arms tighten yet again around him as he relaxed against her. 

He realized that he could be crushing her, but she did not let him go, continuing to clasp him to her, stroking his back, moving slightly under him. And then she gave a little cry and trembled in his arms, and he knew that she had taken her pleasure as well. And then she whispered into his ear, _Ek ann þér_. He laughed – and nearly cried – in the joy of it. His wife loved him and wanted him. They were one.

A little later, she was relaxed completely against him, and he relished the feel of her slim body aligned with his. He turned to her and kissed her again on the lips, and then at her temple. This was how it should be.

As they snuggled together, Rollo recalled something from their wedding night that he’d not done tonight. He stroked her hair now, as he did then, and kissed it. He pulled away a little to see her reaction. 

She smiled a little sheepishly. “I remember. You liked my hair in the braid. You thought I did it to thank you. But I did it to spite you.”

“Spite me? How could that spite me?”

“The women told me that a man liked a woman’s hair loose and flowing. So I made them braid it. And you liked it better that way!”

He laughed deeply. “I liked it better that way, ha!” He kissed her many times all around the crown of her head. “And I still do. Though I also like it loose.” He tugged at her braid playfully, then kissed her again.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/JV6koDI)

~~

 

As summer was coming on, the weather had warmed nicely. Rollo felt the sun hotter on his back than he ever had in Kattegat. It gave him an idea.

He put Halvar in charge for the next day and told him he would be away. He made arrangements with the women to pack some needed items for an outing with Gisla for much of a day. He told Gisla that she was to make no plans for tomorrow; she was going with him for the day. She looked curious, but must have supposed it was a ride to one of the villages to speak to the people, as they had done many times.

They rode together for a short distance just as usual with their guards around them. But when they reached a little forested area, Rollo nodded to the men, who split up and went in two opposite directions around the trees. He clicked to their horses and continued into the woods.

Gisla expressed surprise that they rode now with no guards around them. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise. You will see.”

The forest was lovely and Gisla seemed enchanted by it. The sun was streaming down through the trees in little ribbons of light that caught on her hair, which had escaped from its veil. He longed to whisk that veil from her head entirely. 

When they had come close to the spot that Rollo had picked out, he stopped the horses and staked them under the trees to graze. They would walk the rest of the way. He took the bundles and basket from the packhorse that accompanied them, and led Gisla into the woods a bit further. 

“What are we doing?”

“Just wait and see.”

They came into a little clearing, and a lake stretched out before them. Rollo watched as Gisla surveyed it, and saw the little smile tugging at the edges of her mouth. He wondered if she knew what he had planned.

He set down the bundles on a grassy spot near the shore and began to open them to lay things out. He started by stretching out the thick blanket he’d brought, and bidding Gisla to sit beside him as he unpacked the other things.

She sat down at the corner of the blanket, carefully arranging her skirts. “We are camping here, it seems.”

“For the day, no more. I have bread, fruit, wine. Will you have some?”

“I am not hungry – we just broke our fast a short time ago.”

He smiled, but snatched a few raspberries from the little bundle that Rosamund had supplied and popped them into his mouth. “Well, then we will do something else for a while.” 

He rose and undid his belt, then pulled off his tunic, relishing the cool air here under the trees as it caressed his warm body. Glancing over to Gisla, he laughed at the expression she was making. Some cross between enjoyment of his body, and shock that he was undressing outside. 

“What are you doing?”

“It is hot. Let’s go in the water.”

“Why? I have already bathed.”

He laughed. “Not to bathe, to swim. For fun.”

She looked incredulously at him. “It will be cold.”

“Perhaps, but not as cold as the lakes at home.”

She continued to hesitate. 

“Gisla, come with me.” He began to pull off his breeches. 

She glanced away, always shy. He chuckled. But it looked like perhaps she wanted to, yet something stopped her. He stripped down to his under drawers and turned to her.

“You are afraid?”

She shook her head. “I am not afraid.”

He smiled. Of course she didn’t like to admit her fear to him. “Then what are you waiting for?”

She blurted, “I cannot swim.”

“You have never been in the water?”

“As a child, a little splashing in a fountain, but not swimming.”

He put his arms around her and turned her towards the water. “I will teach you. Don’t worry, I won’t let you drown.”

She looked from him to the water to him again. 

He grinned and turned her around so he could unlace her dress. She protested. He continued. “You can’t swim in your gown.”

“I can’t swim without it!”

He laughed. “Of course you can!” And he quickly drew her gown down to the grass at her feet. “Come, step out of it. Now the chemise.”

“No. I can’t be completely naked outside. Someone might see me.”

“Who would see you? I have ordered the guards to stay on the perimeter of the woods. They will only come if we scream for help.”

“They _know_?” She snatched at her dress as he started to walk away with it. But he kept it from her, laying it over a shrub and blocking her way. 

“They know we want to be alone, that’s all.” He made a grab for her veil.

She gasped and put her hands to hold her veil on, as if it covered her. “Then they will think that we are–”

“They think we will sit by the lake and eat. That is all. Come, Gisla, you promised me that you’d do whatever I wished today.” He gently reached for the veil again.

She backed away a little. “I did not know you meant that I must be naked in a pond.”

He laughed again, drew her to him, and kissed her playfully. “Come on, you can go in your chemise if you wish. There is a dry one packed in one of the bundles.”

She looked down at her chemise, which was shorter than most she had, then looked back up at him. “You have planned this whole thing. This is why Ermengarde insisted on the shorter chemise. She said I would want it for walking in the tall grasses, so my skirts would not tangle so much.”

Rollo smiled broadly. Ermengarde was a good conspirator. “Don’t worry, I only told her that we might go swimming. She won’t say anything.”

Gisla rolled her eyes. “All the women of the palace will know by now.”

He threw up his hands in mock despair. “Well, there is nothing to be done for it. And we don’t want to make them liars, do we? Come!” He pulled off her veil and tossed it with the clothes.

She let him take her hand and lead her to the water. 

 

~~ 

 

When they got to the water’s edge, Rollo stepped down into the lake as if it was just an everyday thing to him. Well, she supposed it was for him back in his home. She wondered what other things he did that she would find shocking. 

She stood on the shore watching him as he ducked himself under the water and came up again, his hair and beard dripping. He flashed her that big crazy grin of his, and started towards her. “Come in, the water is nice.”

She hesitated. She could not see what was under the water for it was so dark here under the shadow of the trees. But he came close to the edge, took her hand, and drew her in, catching her about the waist and pulling her to him. She screeched at the coldness of the water, and grabbed at him as she lost her footing. But he held her to him, keeping her close. And she realized, his feet were on the bottom of the lake here. 

“I don’t want to go under, please.”

“I won’t make you go under, don’t worry.”

He set her down so she could see that it wasn’t very deep where they were. Then he began to draw her out into the lake further, and she realized that she could still touch the bottom for quite some way. But soon the water began to come up around her shoulders. “That is far enough.”

“No, you must be deep enough to swim.”

She shook her head, wary. He stopped, looked strongly at her, then let her stay there. 

“Look, you stay there and I will show you the motions that you must make to swim. Then you will try them, yes?”

She nodded cautiously.

So he went through a number of motions with his hands, waving them back and forth, showing her how they kept him afloat and propelled him. And she copied them, feeling the tension of the water through her hands. And always he kept encouraging her. He was a good teacher. She realized how well he had trained the men; she had watched him doing that and now she saw that he was good with her as well.

Then he showed her how to move her arms and hands so she could keep herself afloat. 

“Good, good, you are doing well. Now I will show you how to move your feet. So then you can, hmm, we call it “walking the water.”

“Walking on the water? Only Christ could do that.”

He chuckled. “No, not _on_ the water, but _in_ it. So you don’t go under. Like this.” He raised his hands above the water and waved them back and forth close together. “Pretend these are your feet and legs. You wave them back and forth like this in the water. Just as you felt the water against your arms, you will feel it against your legs.” He backed away and demonstrated. “I am not touching the bottom here – just moving my arms and legs.” And he stayed afloat, his head bobbing comfortably above the water, his bearded chin dipping just under the surface now and then.

He swam back to her, putting his arms around her and pulling her out to deeper water. She felt very nervous, but let him do it. He turned around so he could stand on the floor of the lake, but she could not. She had her arms around his neck for support.

“Now, I will hold you around the waist, and you will kick, gently, with your feet, and wave your arms as you did before. And you will see that you can float by yourself.” 

“Don’t let me go!” 

“I won’t, I promise. Not until you’re ready.”

She swayed her feet back and forth like he’d shown her, but could not make her arms leave his shoulders. 

“That is good, I can feel the water swishing against me. But you must let your arms go and do the movements I showed you before.”

Gisla did not want to be a coward. She felt his strong hands firmly around her waist. so nervously, she released his neck and waved her arms out to her sides as he instructed. She could feel the water at her feet and legs and through her hands and arms. Maybe she did feel just a little like she could float.

He let her practice that for a little while, then said, “Now you are ready to try it by yourself.”

She looked at him shakily and shook her head. “I’m not sure…not yet.”

“You can do it. I see that you are strong enough.”

“I…I might go under. I don’t want to go under.”

“You won’t.” But he didn’t let go of her and instead of pressing her to let go, he drew her closer and set her down where she could touch the bottom. “Tell me. Why are you so afraid? You are not afraid of anything.”

She frowned at him. She wanted to shout that she was _not_ afraid of anything, but in this case it would be a lie. She looked away from him for a moment, took a breath, then began. 

“When I was small, a boy held me under the water.”

“What? What boy would dare do that to a princess?”

“A prince.” Rollo looked at her with surprise. “My cousin. My father’s brother brought his two sons to visit one summer. It was thought that one day, I would marry the older of them. So we were playing together and went into one of the palace fountains because it was a hot day. He was insufferable. He kept telling me what to do and my father had said that I must play as they wished since they were the guests. And the boy said that when I was his wife I would have to do whatever he told me to do. I told him that I would never marry him. His brother laughed at him and he got mad and pushed me under the water. I struggled and hit him, but he was bigger and much stronger. He would not let me up until his brother started pushing him. By then my mother was there and took me out of the fountain and said I must not play with the boys again because they were too rough for a girl.”

She could see the rage in Rollo’s eyes. “I would kill that boy! Was he punished? What did your father do? Or his father?”

“My mother scolded him for treating a girl like that, and me being so much smaller. He looked angry, but he apologized, for his father made him. But I could see that he always hated me after that.”

“ _He_ hated _you_? _You_ had the right to hate _him!_ ”

“And so I did. I never forgave him. And when my father brought him back for a visit when I was of an age to marry, my cousin had become an arrogant fool. I refused to speak with him beyond the introductory pleasantries.”

Rollo laughed. “Well, I am glad of that part, at least. But he was a bully. Pushing a girl under the water.”

“So now you know why I prefer not to go under. It was frightening – I couldn’t breathe – I thought he would drown me.”

Rollo hugged her tightly. “No one will drown you here. And you are grown now – and strong, so you can keep yourself up. Won’t you try?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. She did not like to show fear with him. She wanted to make him proud. So he took her out to where the water was a little deeper and made her practice the movements again, then let her go. 

Gisla panicked a little at first as she sank a bit, but Rollo caught her, and then encouraged her and soon she found that she could keep herself afloat. She laughed a little as she found she could make herself rise a little above the waterline. She kept it up for several minutes until she started growing tired. Rollo seemed to see it and caught her again in his arms. On impulse, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

“Thank you for showing me. I am not afraid anymore.”

“Good. But we are not done. You have only learned to walk in water. Now you must learn to swim.”

So he showed Gisla how to do arm motions to propel herself through the water. She liked that she did not have to put her head in the water. Soon he had her propelling herself back and forth quite proficiently.

She found herself growing tired and a little cold, so he challenged her to a race back to the shore. She rolled her eyes at him. “Of course, you will win. I am still too slow.”

He laughed and agreed, but swam out to the middle of the lake to give her a huge head start. She was nervous to be left alone, but when she saw him start to swim towards her, her sense of competition got the better of her and she swam madly for the shore, knowing that he was very fast and would catch her quickly despite her lead. All of a sudden she felt something grasp her foot and she kicked very strongly, but then a hand caught her other leg and suddenly she was in his arms and together they made it to shore under his power. 

“Ha, I won!” He touched the shore with his long arm, and laughed at her mock consternation.

“You _cheated_.” Her feet were safely on the bottom of the lake, so she twisted in his arms and stuck her chin out in pretended anger.

“I didn’t. I did not say _how_ I would win.” His arms came around her waist and he pulled her tightly to him.

She pretended to struggle to get away from him, but was losing her footing on a slippery part of the rock beneath her. He laughed and kept hold of her. When she relaxed against him, he tipped her head back and kissed her soundly. She sighed and allowed herself to melt into him. He was so warm, despite the coolness of the water. 

As his kisses deepened, she realized his intent. She tried to pull away, alarmed that they could be seen. But he only tightened his hold on her, and his hand stole down her backside and under her chemise.

“Rollo, we cannot. Not here.”

“Why not? We are alone – and in the water. No one can see us.”

“But they would know.”

“So what if they did? We are married. We are having our honeymoon.” He chuckled deep in his chest and she could feel it vibrate against her. 

She began to protest as his hand slipped between her legs to find her. But he claimed her mouth again and kissed her so passionately that she found she could no longer resist. He backed her gently against a rock that lined the shore, put both his hands under her legs, and lifted her to waist level. 

He broke his kiss long enough to whisper fiercely, “Put your legs around me.” And she found that she could only obey – and gasp as he thrust into her in one sudden movement. 

She had never imagined doing anything like this. To be made love to so passionately here in a lake, water streaming from her hair and his beard, their bodies moving together as if they were only meant for each other. She was conscious of those thoughts for a moment longer, and then lost herself in the sensations that he was creating in her. 

A little while later they were panting together against the rock, he holding her there, kissing her lightly on the neck; she with her face buried in his hair. He smelled of the woods, like green things and musky animals. She felt they were one with the forest here. 

At last he stepped back slowly from the rock, gently lifted her from him, and let her slide down to stand before him. He smoothed his hand over her hair, and drew her wet chemise down over her body, covering her again, though the bottom of it floated around her. Her heart welled with love for him such that she was amazed. Such a little thing, but it seemed that he was always taking care of her. She turned her face up to kiss him and he smiled that big wide smile, his eyes crinkling, before kissing her once more. She gave an involuntary shiver and he chuckled. He put his hands at her waist and lifted her up onto the rock. Then he pulled himself up in one lithe movement, splashing a little water on her. He sat beside her and put his arm around her. 

She blushed to see that he was completely naked – he could not seem to find his under drawers – then as she looked down at herself, she realized that she might as well be naked too, for her thin chemise clung to her so closely that it revealed every bit of her. She crossed her arms over her bosom and glanced up on the shore to see where her clothes were. He laughed. 

Leaping up, he got his footing and helped her to her feet. Then he jumped down to the ground on the other side of the rock, and taking hold of her waist again, swung her down beside him. She gave another little shiver and he took her by the hand and led her, running, to where the blanket lay spread out on the grass.

He stopped, and stepping away from her and the blanket for a moment, shook himself – looking every bit like the bear that she had always imagined him as. He teased her into doing the same, though she felt ridiculous doing so, giggling like a child. He laughed in delight, and before she could stop him, he lifted the chemise over her head and tossed it away. She was shocked at being truly naked out in the open, but had little time to think about it, for he quickly pulled her over to the blanket, and laid her down on it. He joined her there, and rolled them both together in its warmth. He drew her into his arms into their favorite resting position, and they stared up at the trees together. 

Gisla sighed with contentment. As shocking as this was, she had to admit that it was a delightful way to spend a day. 

~~

Returning home, Gisla felt that everyone must be staring at her. She had somehow lost her veil, and had tried to right her hair, but knew she must look disheveled. 

Ermengarde met them as they entered their rooms, fixing her gaze pointedly at Gisla’s hair. “It must have been very windy on your ride – you seem to have lost your veil.” She gave Rollo a sly smile as she turned to attend to the bundles.

Gisla tried not to blush as Rollo guffawed. How she’d explain the wet chemise and his missing drawers, she did not want to think about. 

~~

 

[](http://imgur.com/QaWhEn0)

Art by [Lauredessine](http://birdy0fly.deviantart.com).  


~~

  
Notes

Wolf cross – Gisla’s gift to Rollo was inspired by something I saw on [Etsy](https://www.etsy.com/listing/188501506/fenrir-viking-pewter-wolf-pendant) and [Scandinavian Shoppe](https://www.scandinavianshoppe.com/store/p/179-Viking-Wolf-Cross-Pendant-Pewter.html), which had this little description that was also inspiring: “The Wolf Cross symbolized Vitality and Success. An Icelandic pendant worn by Christian and pagan Vikings combines the Christian cross and [Thor's Hammer](https://www.scandinavianshoppe.com/store/p/127-Thor-s-Hammer-Pendant-Pewter.html) coming together in an open cross within the cross. It celebrates the life force of the sun, and the wolf's head shows respect for animal cunning.” Gisla went to Knud, the Norse silversmith, and with Sinric’s help, explained what she wanted, so that is why it has the Norse design. 

[](http://imgur.com/rbG09cY)

_Ek ann þér. (Ek ann ther.)_ – “I love you” in Old Norse. As advised by [this blog page](https://tattuinardoelasaga.wordpress.com/2014/08/13/conversational-old-norse/) on Old Norse.

History of Swimming – there are illustrations of people swimming in cave paintings found in Egypt (called the [“Cave of Swimmers”](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/dc/WadiSuraSwimmers.jpg)), and it appears they are swimming using the breaststroke or doggy paddle style. There are also Babylonian bas-reliefs and Assyrian wall drawings that show swimmers using the breaststroke, and an Egyptian tomb has drawings depicting a variant of the front crawl. Swimming is mentioned in much ancient and early medieval literature, though most often in military context. 

From the article [History of Swimming](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_swimming):  
Swimming was initially one of the seven agilities of knights during the Middle Ages, including swimming with armor. However, as swimming was done in a state of undress, it became less popular as society became more conservative in the early Modern period. Leonardo da Vinci made early sketches of lifebelts. In 1539, Nikolaus Wynmann, a German professor of languages, wrote the first swimming book _Colymbetes_. His purpose was to reduce the dangers of drowning. The book contained a good methodical approach to learning breaststroke, and mentioned swimming aids such as air filled cow bladders, reed bundles, and cork belts.

In 1587, Everard Digby also wrote a swimming book, claiming that humans could swim better than fish. Digby was a Senior Fellow at St. John's College, Cambridge and was interested in the scientific method. His short treatise, _De arte natandi_ , was written in Latin and contained over 40 woodcut illustrations depicting various methods of swimming, including the breaststroke, backstroke and crawl. Digby regarded the breaststroke as the most useful form of swimming.

In 1603, Emperor Go-Yozei of Japan declared that schoolchildren should swim.

As for whether the Vikings swam, or how they swam, there is some record in the sagas, as described in the [ Hurstwic article on games and sports](http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/daily_living/text/games_and_sports.htm): 

Skill at playing board games apparently was held in some esteem. In _Morkinskinna_ (chapter 71), King Eysteinn and King Sigurðr compared their accomplishments. Sigurðr claimed he was stronger and a better swimmer. Eysteinn countered, "That is true, but I am more skilled and better at board games, and that is worth as much as your strength." [That sounds like part of a flyting to me!]

The saga literature is full of references to sporting games ( _leikar_ ). Some of the games mentioned include ball games, skin throwing games, scraper games, wrestling, swimming, and horse fights.

The swimming competitions might be more accurately called drowning competitions; the goal was to see who could hold his opponent underwater the longest. Chapter 40 of _Laxdæla saga_ tells of a match between Kjartan Ólafsson and King Ólafur Tryggvason.

(This is a really fun page since it discusses many other games and sports that the Vikings played, including things that sound something like baseball and American football or rugby).

Also, it just makes sense that Vikings would be able to swim – [this Quora response](https://www.quora.com/Could-Vikings-swim) discusses the logic.

Rollo’s under drawers – As discussed in an earlier chapter, the Vikings may have worn under drawers. If they did, they probably looked something like this:  
[](http://imgur.com/UlPV8uj)  
This is discussed in the [Hurstwic article on clothing](http://www.hurstwic.com/history/articles/daily_living/text/clothing.htm#men).

The wearing of mourning clothes – I did not find information about the length of time that people in the Middle Ages might have worn their mourning clothes. But what I did find mentions the long-term wearing of mourning by widows, especially those of elite status. And it was mentioned that mourning clothes were worn for formal, public occasions. So I thought it might be reasonable that Gisla would wear subdued colors for a time after her deep mourning period just after the miscarriage. I did not find information discussing the wearing of mourning clothes after a miscarriage; I chose to have Gisla do this because she saw the baby in her dreams as a small child. People of the time may have worn mourning clothes after the loss of a small child, though again, I did not find specific information about that. There is a lot more readily available about the Victorian age, where I think the etiquette of mourning was practiced in a much more widespread way. Also, elements of mourning, such as raising monuments to the dead loved ones and donating money to build chapels in churches, was a way to show a family’s wealth and status. So Gisla’s motives for building the chapel may have been seen by others in this way, though we know what she felt in her heart. Much of this came from this interesting article on mourning:[ Medieval Deaths, Funeral Rites, and Rituals](http://rosaliegilbert.com/deaths.html).

~~


	23. The Princess and the Bear and the Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  The new-found happiness of Rollo and Gisla is threatened.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  My thanks as always to Swimmingfox, UnderTheSkyline, and Windchimed for their editorial help. I could not do it without you!
> 
> And thanks to LaureDessine for her beautiful artwork!
> 
> To my readers: thanks (as always, it seems) for being so patient. Real life was particularly busy and stressful these past two months, so my writing has had to take a back seat. The next chapter should not take so long to be posted. Thanks for reading! Comments are always appreciated.  
>   
> 

~~

 

[](http://imgur.com/HI8lkaT)

 

~~

Many months had passed, and autumn was upon Rouen. Rollo breathed in the crisp air and the scent of the trees around him as he continued on his rounds inspecting the outer city wall. 

These months had been a time of great happiness for him. He and Gisla had grown closer than ever – more than he’d ever imagined he could be with a woman. It seemed that she sought to be with him as much as he did with her. She came with him more often to see the progress of the defenses of the city and to pay visits to the outlying villages; he accompanied her to church and to the hospital. 

But the thing they enjoyed the most was planning – and now visiting – the orphanage they’d endowed in honor of their son Robert. They both loved being with the children – Rollo smiled at the thought of Gisla, the proud and proper princess, crouching on the floor joining in with the children’s games. Together they’d created something that honored their little lost boy in every possible way.

And the summer had been a wonder for Rollo in another way. Gisla had blossomed beyond his wildest hopes. While she was always proper in public – something that made him both proud and amused – she was warm with him in private. She was never the assertive lover that Siggy had been, but she had a warmth all her own. She delighted him with small embraces and kisses at odd moments – even waking him in the night as she snuggled next to him, being so completely responsive that he had begun to suppose that this was her way of initiating sex. But it would be a long day until he could return to her, so he tucked those thoughts gently away.

As he continued along the outer wall, nodding at the men working there, he wondered – for what must be the hundredth time – at why Ragnar had not returned that summer. Now it would be too cold in Kattegat to be embarking on a trip through northern waters. Could Ragnar be elsewhere – Wessex, perhaps? But the Frankish court had connections with Wessex now; it seemed that King Charles would marry a Wessex noblewoman. Surely some word would have come had Ragnar returned there. Rollo had thought more than once of sending a ship to Kattegat itself, to learn of Ragnar’s fate, but feared that whomever he sent would be taken captive and tortured for information, endangering the settlement here. 

So they bided their time, maintained their defenses, and continued to strengthen them, always training for as many scenarios as possible. His brother could surprise them, but Rollo had begun to doubt that Ragnar was even alive.

~~

Gisla was returning from a visit to some of the artisans of the city when she spied horsemen racing into the stable yard. She watched as the men pulled up, looking for the master of arms. She hurried over to speak to them as they dismounted. It was some of the scouts who’d been sent out around both cities to watch for danger. But these men did not come from the shore; she felt sure that they were from the interior. 

The leader recognized her and bowed. “Your Highness. Is Lord Rollo about?”

“He is outside of the city today. What is it? Is there trouble?” Gisla tried to keep the worry out of her voice. She signaled for the master of arms and her guards to gather around.

“Yes. Troops from the east have been spotted.”

“From the east. Frankish, then?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Odo.” Gisla breathed the name. _The traitor!_ Her stomach tightened at the thought that he would really attack Paris, the city he had fought so hard to defend from others. 

“Yes, we think so. There were banners from further east – the king’s brother.”

“I did not quite believe Odo would attempt it. Do we know their numbers?”

“Quite large. Other scouts will continue to watch and make reports.”

“Paris has been alerted?”

“Of course. Those men should have arrived before we did here.”

She nodded, then turned to the master of arms, who was already barking orders to soldiers to go find Lord Rollo and bring him back here. Some of her guards had hurried off to raise the alarm in the city. “Then all is being done that can be done. Come, you must rest after your long ride.”

~~

Darkness was just falling when Rollo arrived in Rouen, having rushed back after hearing about Odo’s impending attack. He was pleased to see that all defenses had been raised in response to his standing orders.

He rode up to the house, anxious to find Gisla and see how she was taking the news. He smiled to himself as he saw her waiting on the balcony, watching for him. He could just make out the relief on her face as he dismounted, and when he looked back again, she was gone.

Hurrying into the hall, he met her coming down the stairs. As there were onlookers, she greeted him with a formal kiss on the cheek, just resting her hand lightly on his arm. But he could tell that under that proper demeanor was a tension that was lightly masked. He took her arm and led her away to where they could talk.

“You are all right? No trouble here?”

“No, we raised the alarm and readied the troops. You will lead the troops to defend Paris yourself?”

“Of course.”

“You know that the treaty only requires you to defend it from your brother.” 

There was worry in her voice, and he knew that she was concerned that another assassination attempt would be made. 

“Yes, but if Paris falls, our holdings here may be threatened. None of us will be safe here if Odo takes Paris.”

She nodded somberly. “That is true. But I hate that you must go. I could go with you.”

“And who would rally the troops in Rouen?” He grinned at her and she smiled a little. “If I thought you would be safer in Paris, I would not hesitate to take you with me. But we may have to fight along the way, so I’d rather you stay here in Rouen, safe behind the city walls.”

She nodded, but he could tell that she was not convinced.

Rollo pulled her into his arms, kissing her on the lips fiercely. She returned his embrace and his kiss with as much fire. When he pulled back, he looked at her with great concern. “You must stay safe. If there is trouble, you will take your ladies and go among the people – dress as one of them, and the shield maidens will defend you. We leave them here as part of the guard. Will you promise me to do that?” He worried that she would feel compelled to be at the front of whatever fighting there could be. 

“Yes. I promise.” Gisla looked up at him, searching his eyes. “And you must come back to me.” 

Rollo looked her straight in the eye. “Only God himself will keep me from returning to you.”

She whispered, “I will pray for you.”

~~

Gisla watched as Rollo made preparations, calling orders to some of his men, and ate a quick meal. 

She wondered if she should tell him what she had come to suspect – that she was with child again at last. Would such news give him more ferocity to fight, make him more cautious to return alive, or would it just add a worry to his cares? She decided to keep it to herself. After all, she wasn’t certain yet. She hadn’t even spoken to Rosamund or the midwife yet. 

Finally, Rollo called Pepin to him and solemnly ordered him to stay by Gisla’s side, guarding her, taking orders only from her. The boy nodded solemnly back and gave the salute he’d seen the other guards give. 

Then Rollo came to her, staring down into her eyes intensely, giving her a formal kiss on the cheek. 

She watched him as he gave her a curt nod, just a hint of passion still in his eyes, waited for her return nod, then turned abruptly and strode off, his men joining him in the hallway. She stood stoically and watched as they mounted and rode away. Then she took a deep breath, and turned back to the palace. 

As she climbed the long stairs to their rooms, she thought of how hard it would be to be parted from Rollo now. Paris itself was only a two-day ride away, but there was no telling how long the battle might be – especially if it became a siege. It felt like Rollo would be gone for an eternity. And – there was a pang in her heart – he might truly go away for eternity if the battle went badly. She headed straight for her prie-dieu and spent the next hour on her knees in heartfelt prayer for his safety and success in the battle.

~~

Rollo stretched and moved about restlessly as they watered the horses. He and the men had ridden hard through the night, eager to meet their foe. Fortunately, it was a clear night and the moonlight guided their path. During the ride, he’d been able to push many of his concerns from his mind and focus on the task ahead. But now in his forced idleness, his thoughts meandered back to Gisla, who he knew would be worrying about him, perhaps in prayer, and likely as restless as he was. 

How different it was to be leaving her now when her love for him was as fierce as his was for her. No longer did he ponder whether she missed him as much as he did her. The passion in her kisses matched his, and he could still feel the tightness of her final embrace before he’d taken his leave. Never had he wished more for victory in battle that he might live on. Always before there was the hope of Valhalla ahead. Now he only wished to defeat his enemy and return to his princess. Valhalla could wait.

~~

The next morning, after a restless night, Gisla had inquired as to any news from Paris, and hearing nothing – which could be good or bad – decided to go to the cathedral to help lead prayer. She sent word to the archbishop, and bade her ladies help her to prepare. She sent messengers into the city to spread the word that there would be a special prayer service to pray for the safety of Rouen and Paris and the towns in between. Most of the people of the towns just outside Rouen had been gathered into the city walls for safety and were camped in all the alleyways and in every spare nook and cranny of the city, including what space could be spared in the church and the palace.

The service was especially uplifting, and Gisla was inspired to see how many people had come to worship and pray. Just as the Archbishop Franco was beginning the benediction, the doors burst open and there was a clatter of armor. Every one turned to see who the noisy intruders where. 

“Who dares to interrupt the Holy Word?” The archbishop said fiercely.

Gisla turned to see men pouring into the church. Had there been a breach of the walls – were they coming to escort the people to safety? 

But her guards seemed to know better. Marcoul gave a cry and stepped in front of her, other guards encircling her, while still others spread out in preparation to fight. The floor seemed to drop out from under her as she realized that these were not their troops. While they had the over-tunics bearing the city guard blazon, they wore different uniforms underneath – and their helms had a foreign insignia. They were Odo’s men! How did they get through the city walls? 

One of the men raised his sword and declared loudly, “We are here to rescue the princess.”

Gisla gasped. “I am in no need of rescue. This is my city, my home. You are intruders.”

The man laughed. “I will say that another way. We are here for you, Your Highness. At the express command of Count Odo of Paris. Even now he is re-taking the city from those heathens, and we are here to bring you safely to his side.” The commander nodded his head, and some of his men advanced towards the front of the church. 

Her men reacted, raising their shields and swords, prepared to defend. The bishop was crying for them to stop, that they mustn’t shed blood in this holy place. 

One of Odo’s men raised his hand and gave an order, and his men stopped their advance. Gisla swallowed convulsively. Her own men stilled for a moment to see what would happen. Then Odo’s man gave some other order and some of his men encircled a few of the parishioners around them and put their swords to their throats. Some of them were children.

“No!” Gisla gasped. “No!” She shouted now. 

The archbishop raised his voice again, “You must not do this; you defile the sanctity of the church!”

The commander gave an order, and one man tightened his hold on his hostage, a young girl, and threatened her with his knife. The commander looked calmly at Gisla. “The princess can prevent it. If she comes with us willingly, no one will be hurt.”

Gisla’s guards tightened their circle around her and one took a few steps towards the intruders. “We are sworn to keep her safe. We cannot release her to you.”

Gisla looked about and realized that though her guard was large enough to defend her against the intruders if they were free to fight, there were enough intruders to do great harm to the innocent people of the church if a real fight ensued.

She spoke quietly to the guard closest to her. “Marcoul, let them take me. They will not hurt me – Odo would punish them.” Marcoul started to protest, but she shook her head. Raising her voice, she spoke to the entire congregation and the attackers. “I will go with them. God is watching and will guard me.” Turning to the men with the hostages, she continued fiercely, “Let them go. I give you my word that I will come peacefully. I will not try to escape. I vow this before God, and these witnesses in this place of holy worship.”

Marcoul whispered desperately, “Your Highness, you cannot! They mustn’t take you!”

She turned and spoke to him firmly. “I must. I won’t have there be violence to the people on my account.” Then, in a whisper, “You will send men to follow us. Carefully, for it is bound to be a trap – you will tell Lord Rollo.” 

Marcoul realized what she was saying, and nodded curtly. She could see the pain in his eyes. 

She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Marcoul, you are doing your duty by me and the people.”

Odo’s men beckoned her forward, and her guards reluctantly let her pass. As she made her way down the aisle the people closest to the center reached out to touch her cloak and whispered blessings on her. She warmed to think that they would be praying for her safety. For the moment, she had no regrets for what she was doing – all she could think of was keeping the people of Rouen safe. 

Even when she reached the end of the aisle, Odo’s men at the entrance to the church did not release their hostages. “Why do you not release these people? I come with you willingly.”

The commander looked around at his men and one by one nodded to them, and they released their hostages. All but one, the one with the young girl. “We will bring this one along just to make sure that you won’t try to run.”

“I have already given my word in this holy church that I will come with you. Surely you need not trouble this poor child.”

“All the same, we will bring her. She can serve you on the way.”

Gisla looked into the eyes of the poor, frightened girl. She was only a child. Gisla wanted to reassure her, but the men had already surrounded her and were escorting her to the door. 

Suddenly a small voice rang out. “Take me instead!” And little Pepin was running down the aisle to where the young girl stood. 

The commander laughed. “You are a brave one, boy. Very well, bring the boy instead. Likely he’ll be less trouble than the girl.”

The guard released the girl and grabbed Pepin instead, and the men hustled both Gisla and him out the door to the waiting horses. Gisla shot Pepin a stern look, hoping that he would understand that he should not speak, just as she often did in the palace when he needed a reminder not to speak unless spoken to. He nodded with wide eyes.

The men helped her onto a horse and just as she was making herself comfortable in the seat, another man lashed her hands to the pommel. 

“How dare you tie me? I have given you my word that I will cooperate.”

“When we are safely out of the city, perhaps we will unbind you.” He leered at her openly, and suddenly she wondered if she had been rash in trusting these men. But she could not regret it, for she had prevented them from harming the people. She glanced about for Pepin, and saw that he was placed in front of a soldier on a horse and his hands were bound too. 

Then the commander gave the order, and the man who had helped her onto the horse gave it a slap, and soon they were galloping out of the city. Gisla held on desperately, for she had not ridden in such a manner before. She lost sight of Pepin, but supposed that he was used to this pace as he’d ridden with Rollo and the men many times, and for once she was grateful. 

They passed through the postern gate of the city without incident, for she saw that the city guards there had been replaced with Odo’s own men. As soon as they were through the gates, those men left their posts and joined the group in flight. This had clearly been planned out carefully. 

When they passed under some trees, her veil caught on the low-hanging branches. She at first ducked and tried to prevent it from coming off, but then realized that it would be better if it were lost. She let the branches do their damage and pretended not to notice when the veil slipped off. Her circlet was pulled back, so she could claim that she only thought it was unseated, not lost, if she were questioned on it. They were in shadows under the trees, so she hoped the guards would not notice as the cloth slipped to the ground. It seemed they did not.

It was hours later when they finally arrived in camp. She noticed banners that she recalled from when she was a child and her uncle and cousins had come to visit. There were many other banners she did not recognize, but she presumed they must be from the followers of that uncle or the other. It looked like a formidable camp; there were soldiers milling everywhere. She kept a lookout for Odo, but did not see him.

She was taken to a tent, much finer than the others, and she realized that it must be Odo’s. She braced herself as the men helped her down from the horse. 

She was taken inside, but there was no one there. The guards, Wibert and Ebrult, whose names she’d overheard earlier, took her over to the bed. Wibert gave her a push towards it. “Get on the bed.”

A wave a fear passed through her. Ebrulf, the man who had leered at her earlier, was ogling her again, and Wibert pushed her a little harder. She gasped. “You cannot. Count Odo–”

“Get on the bed. Nothing will happen to you.”

She caught Wibert’s eye, and did as she was bidden. With a worried look at Ebrulf, she lay on her side, arranging her skirts modestly. As soon as she was still, Ebrulf pulled up her skirt to her knees, causing her to cry out and try to draw away. But Wibert had grabbed her hands and begun to bind them. Ebrulf put her feet together and bound them tightly. Then he fondled her ankle and began to creep his hand up her leg, chuckling as he did so. Wibert barked an order, and Ebrulf stopped, but continued to stare at her. Wibert laid a coverlet over her, dipped his head to her, and marshaled the other man from the room.

Left alone, bound, she could do little more than lie back on the bed and try to rest. But her mind would not obey. She began to think about what attitude she should take with Odo when he appeared. She supposed that he would use her as a hostage to get Rollo to come after her; she knew well that no matter what was said, Rollo would do just that. She plotted as to what would best give him time, and make it easier for him to rescue her. She determined that despite her fury that Odo had kidnapped her, and that his men had used the people against her, she must be wily about how to behave. 

Gisla knew that she could not act too friendly, for he would be suspicious – she never had liked him and he must surely know this. On the other hand, she could pretend that she was grateful that he’d rescued her from an unpleasant marriage, something he had assumed she would feel when he tried to get her to leave with him a year ago. The thing she was certain of was that she must hold her temper and not say all the things she burned to say to him. She decided that she should keep a wary, but respectful distance when talking to him.

Knowing that she would need her strength, she tried again to rest. But all her worries and fears haunted her. She had no idea where the men had taken Pepin. And she did not even know if Rollo was alive. She hoped desperately that he and his men had carried the day. 

She drew her hands up in prayer, and whispered her deepest hopes to God. For Rollo, for Pepin, and for the child that might be within her. After a time, a small measure of peace came to her and she allowed sleep to take her.

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Historical Notes:
> 
> Rollo made reference to the king’s plan to marry a woman from Wessex. In history, this would have happened much later than the year 912, when my story is set. Charles the Simple married Eadgifu of Wessex in 919, and they would have a son, Louis the IV, in either 920 or 921. In real life, Charles had five or six daughters by his first wife, Frederuna of Lotharingia, and she died in 917. Since the show made Gisla an only child (or at least never mentioned any other daughters), I have taken some historical license in having him remarry at this time. I think that in reality, had his first wife died earlier, he would have remarried quite soon after as it was important to have a male heir. 
> 
> Keep in mind also that the show seems to merge the situations of Charles the Bald (823-877, ruled Frankia 840-877), Charles the Fat (839-888, ruled West Frankia 884-888), and Charles the Simple (879-929, ruled West Frankia 898-922). Charles the Bald (grandfather to Charles the Simple), was the one who had trouble with his brothers and faced the first Viking siege on Paris (845), in which the real Ragnar (assuming he actually existed) is said to have participated. Charles the Fat is the one who had to deal with the 885 siege of Paris; he was eventually deposed and succeeded by Count Odo of Paris who was elected by the elite of Frankia as king (Odo was very respected. He died in 898). And Charles the Simple is the one who had continued dealings with Vikings, including Rollo, and who made the treaty in which Rollo was given noble status and lands in the Rouen region. 
> 
> ~~


	24. The Princess and the Bear and the Attack, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  While Rollo faces Odo’s forces, Gisla faces Odo himself.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many thanks to Swimmingfox for an extra dose of editorial feedback on this one! Thanks too to UnderTheSkyline for her story input, and to Windchimed for her eagle eye editing. And kudos to LaureDessine for her moving artwork. 
> 
> To my readers: I’m sorry this took so long; this past month turned out to be much busier than expected in real life. Thanks for hanging in there!  
>   
> 

~~

 

Rollo winced as the healer tightened the bandage around his arm. It was a minor wound, nearly in the same place as the one he’d received the night of the assassination attempt, but it still stung. He’d thought himself invincible in the moments – or were they hours? – of fighting that took place on the crossroads between Paris and Rouen and the east. It had still been dark when they encountered the force and he and his men had had surprise on their side when they struck. Rollo had passed the word through signals along the column, and they struck as one. 

They had split the force, so the Frankish attackers had scattered – some continued on to Paris and eluded them, while the others attempted to retreat. Rollo had made the split-second decision to follow those who had fallen back – better not to have the Franks regroup and return to hit their backs as they faced the ones hurrying to join up with others in Paris. Rollo knew that the signals had been sent and that his and Roland’s men in Paris were ready for a sizeable force.

Now they rested at the crossroads again. Rollo sighed and tried to snatch a few minutes of sleep. Soon they would be on their way to Paris to join the fray there. He leaned back against a tree and allowed his mind to drift. 

“Varnan!” 

Rollo was wrested from his slumber. The call came again: _warning_. He listened. Horsemen were approaching. 

He shook off his fatigue and got to his feet, slipping his sword from its sheath as he did so. Around him, he heard muttered prayers to Odin and Meili as his men quickly got into formation, shields and swords raised. 

Yet as the horsemen drew closer, the moonlight revealed that they were Rollo’s own men from Rouen, bearing the devices of the city guard and palace guard. The group stopped abruptly, one shouted a password, and Rollo’s lieutenant shouted the reply. The lead horseman dismounted and came forward. 

Rollo recognized him immediately. “Marcoul, what are you doing here? Where is the princess? Has the city been attacked?” 

The man bowed low, then straightened to report, his face showing apprehension. “No, the city was not attacked, precisely. But some of Odo’s men infiltrated the city and–” He drew a breath. “They have taken the Princess Gisla with them.”

Marcoul’s words hit Rollo like a blow to the gut. “How is that possible? The city was defended – the walls were complete!” He gripped his sword as if he could cut down the men responsible at this very moment.

The guard blanched and spoke in a low tone. “I know, my lord. But they must have come as refugees when we allowed the villagers to come inside the walls. My life is forfeit, my lord.” He dropped to a knee and bent his head. 

Rollo stood staring at the man for a moment. Part of him wanted to execute every last guard for allowing Gisla to be taken. But he also believed that Marcoul and the others were loyal and would give their lives to protect Gisla. He expelled an impatient breath. “Get up. Tell me how it happened.”

Marcoul explained, and Rollo was not surprised to learn that Gisla had ordered them to let the men take her to protect the people in the church. That they had taken a child with them – Pepin. And that Marcoul had sent men to track them. He believed they would ultimately take her to Odo’s chateau, east of Paris. After finishing, Marcoul bowed his head in shame. “It should have been prevented, my lord. I take full responsibility.”

Rollo swallowed his ire. This man was not in charge of the entire city guard. “You followed your lady’s orders. I wish she had not given them, but I cannot fault you for that. Go now and make sure that all the guards are our own. Relay my orders to the city guard to fortify the city according to our plans, and watch for any who would breach our walls. We will speak of this later.”

Rollo turned to his men, who had gathered around him to hear the report. “Halvar, gather horsemen to track Gisla with me. Gulbrand, I leave you in charge of the troops here – lead them to Paris to reinforce Roland’s men as planned. But watch your backs – you must be ready to repel the next wave if it should come.”

The men nodded their assent and went immediately to carry out their orders. Rollo stood silently watching them for a few moments, then murmured a prayer to Frigg to send her handmaiden Hlín to watch over Gisla. Then he sprang into action, saddling his horse and readying himself for the ride ahead.

 

~~

 

Gisla awoke to the sound of horses and men shouting in the distance. Soon she heard men approaching outside her tent and recognized Odo’s voice. She struggled to sit up. She wished she could be standing when he came in, or be anywhere but on the bed, but her feet and hands were bound too tightly to move or stand easily. So she sat up as straight as she could and waited.

He came in, all bluster and puffed up with importance. He removed his gauntlets, threw off his cloak, handed them to a squire, and waited for the boy to leave before turning to her. She raised her chin with pride, but stopped short of defiance.

“Well, at last, here is the princess waiting on me for a change.”

“Count Odo.” She dropped her eyes as if in respect, glancing down at her bound hands. “I can’t believe you ordered them to bind me. I gave my word that I would not try to escape. Nor have I.”

“A princess in bonds has its appeal.” He stepped close to her, and ran his hand along the side of her face, cupping her chin. 

She thought he was going to try to kiss her, and she steeled herself not to flinch, pulling herself slightly away, as any modest woman would.

He stopped, speaking low and right to her face. “I would have thought you’d welcome me. Someone civilized after that heathen has had you.”

She said nothing, keeping her face as neutral as possible, trying hard not to glare at him.

He must have seen her struggle. “I always did like your spirit. Perhaps I will like you even better now that that barbarian has broken you in for me. Now at least you will know what to do.” He put his hand behind her head and forced a kiss on her.

Shocked, she struggled and when he pulled away, she spat, “How dare you touch me, you filthy traitor!”

She winced in surprise as he slapped her, and her bound hands flew to her mouth. She would have burst forth with fury, but the blow had stunned her; if he would do this when she’d only spoken the ugly truth, what else might he do to her? She must not do anything that could endanger the child she might be carrying. She decided quickly that she would give in to her deeper urge to weep in fear and worry. She let the tears flow down her cheeks and kept her head down. 

After a moment, Gisla looked up cautiously, allowing fear to show in her eyes. She pulled her hands away from her lips and saw that there was blood on them. She let her mouth drop open in shock. Fumbling around for a handkerchief, she was startled when he reached forward to hand her one. 

“You do manage to raise my hackles. You should be careful.”

She did not have to pretend to be afraid. He had a menacing manner about him. “I…I have often prayed that God would help me with my pride.”

She had dropped her eyes when she said this, pressing her cut lip with the handkerchief, and sniffing loudly, then dabbing at her eyes, allowing the tears to continue to flow liberally. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him nodding.

“And I struggle with my temper.” He reached again, putting his fingers under her chin and raising her face so he could look at her. “Just think. Together we can overcome our vices, and become the most perfect and powerful couple in Paris.” 

She thought he was about to kiss her again, but he seemed to think better of it and let her go, backing away. She said nothing.

“What? Nothing to say now? That is a rare thing with you.” He observed her closely. “Soon enough you will be mine. You should have something to say about that.”

She sniffed again. “You would make me an adulteress? How could I ever hold up my head in Paris?”

Odo appeared to consider. “No, that will not be necessary. For soon you will be a widow.” He did not give her time to react, thankfully. “I will conquer Paris – kill your beast of husband and his men. You will publically proclaim your gratitude, and become my wife. The people of the city will welcome our civilized marriage.”

Fear struck at her heart – could there already be a plan to kill Rollo? Perhaps he had already walked into a trap on the way to Paris and had been killed. But she forced her fear back and stared stonily at Odo. 

“What? You do not like my plan? I would have thought you would thank me for ending what must be a very distasteful union. But then, it would be a nice interlude for me to have a taste of you now before I return to battle.”

“I will not be your whore.”

“Very well then. Will you promise me that when you are a widow, you will marry me as I have said?”

She tried to think of an alternative, but there was nothing. She must hope that God would forgive her for lying to a traitorous murderer. “You must prove to me that I am truly a widow first.”

“I will bring you that barbarian’s head.”

Her stomach tightened. But she stiffened her back and said haughtily, “I think I would rather see him grovel first.”

Odo laughed. “I see I was right. You are sick of him. Very well, I will endeavor to take him alive. We can make a grand example of him before the people of Paris. And no one will have their hands cut off this time – unless it is him!”

She suppressed a shudder and hoped that she had done right. Had she bought Rollo more time, or condemned him to a humiliating and miserable death? She gave Odo a curt nod and hoped he would read it as her agreement.

Odo stared at her for a moment, then turned abruptly and made his way over to where the food and wine was. He sat with a great plop on the chair and downed a glass of wine quickly. “Will you have some? To celebrate our betrothal?”

Forcing back the urge to gag, she nodded down at her bound hands. “It is rather difficult to drink with one’s hands bound.”

He chuckled as if she had made a joke, then rose and returned to the bedside, unsheathing the knife at his waist. She lifted her hands to him nervously, but he only sliced through the bindings. She sighed as her hands were freed and she gasped as she felt the blood rushing back into them. Odo set the knife down and rubbed her wrists vigorously. She had to steel herself not to wrench her hands away from him. 

At last he let her go and served her a glass of wine. She nodded her thanks, and sipped. To prevent his talk of their pending marriage, she asked for food. He bade her come to the small table, remembered that she could not walk, cut the bindings at her ankles, and helped her to a chair. She did not have to pretend to be grateful for this, for she loathed the idea of being on his bed.

Odo raised his glass and drank deeply. He took handfuls of the bread and cheese, and ate quickly, pacing about while he told her about his exploits in the battle so far. To hear him tell it, the battle was going well in his favor. He seemed to think that Paris was as good as taken.

“So soon? It was a long siege before.”

“You forget, I know the defenses of the city better than anyone.”

She said nothing, letting him assume that she knew and was defeated by it.

“And there is no beautiful princess with the Oriflamme spurring the men to action.” He came closer and put his hand under her chin to lift her face to him. She allowed him to do so, steeling herself for another caress or kiss. But he only stared into her eyes. “And I don’t believe your father will be so bold as to encourage the troops himself, will he now?”

Gisla pulled her head away from Odo’s grasp and glanced down in shame. Why was her father so spiritless? She looked back at Odo. “And what will become of my father, since you intend to rule Paris?”

“He can make way for me – escape and retire quietly to one of his chateaus, pleading age and illness. Or he can die. Which do you think he will choose?”

Gisla turned her eyes away and gave no answer. Her silence seemed to agree with Odo, for he stepped away and continued his story.

She listened carefully, in case anything might help Rollo if she should by some miracle get back to him. But as Odo talked on, she felt her heart sinking further and further into gloom. It seemed that Odo had the better part of two armies behind him. One, consisting of his own men and those of her uncle in East Frankia, was already engaged in Paris. The second, from her other uncle was expected the next day. It sounded like they were vast armies and she wondered how Roland and Rollo would be able to counter them.

At last Odo finished his meal and announced that he would be returning to the fray. He came back over to her and whispered, “I look forward to our meeting again. Would that we could consummate our new relationship now.” He started to kiss her again, but instead merely laid his hand gently on her head. “Feel free to rest in my bed; try not to be too lonely there on your own.” She must have hidden her distaste badly, for he laughed, and added, “Don’t worry, I haven’t slept in it at all yet. So you can chastely sleep there if you wish. You’d best get a good night’s sleep for you will be leaving quickly on the morrow.”

“Where will I be going?”

“To my chateau, of course. You can wait out the battle in comfort, and I will send for you when it is won.”

She nodded. Then she thought of something. “I hope you will order your men not to bind me – it was most humiliating and dangerous that my hands were bound to the saddle.”

“You will not be riding tomorrow. I have a carriage here for you.”

“Thank you. And I hope you will see that Ebrulf is not among those who travel with me. He was most improper.”

Odo laughed. “He will be seen to. You will see what it is to be treated with the respect a princess deserves. I will send a woman to see to your needs now.” 

“Thank you.” She was surprised at his solicitude, but supposed that he expected that she would take graciously to his plan. Suddenly she remembered poor Pepin. “My lord, please. There is also a boy – just a poor orphan – who was brought with me as a hostage. Will you see that he is treated properly?”

“A boy? Some pauper from the city? You are always caring for the poor.”

“If we do not, who will?” Gisla nearly explained more about Pepin, but decided that it would be best to let Odo think that he was just a waif that she cared for at her orphanage.

He seemed to consider, but answered lightly. “We will find him a place with the servants at my chateau.”

Odo called for his squire, and Gisla watched as the boy helped him on with his armor again, and then Odo turned, gave her a chivalrous salute, and left.

For a few moments, Gisla sat completely still in her chair maintaining her composure should Odo return. Bit by bit the reality of what might happen washed over her and she started shaking, realizing how close she had been to breaking down and weeping for Rollo, even begging Odo not to kill him. She whispered fervent prayers for her husband, begging God to watch over him and keep him from harm. 

She was startled when someone entered, and she glanced down to hide her emotion. But a woman’s voice assured her that it was just the serving woman that Odo had promised, and so Gisla wiped her eyes and composed herself. She allowed the woman to help her with the chamber pot and to bathe a little, before helping her into bed, for Gisla had decided that she must get as much rest as possible for the child’s sake. She had begun to think of herself as with child since Odo had come in, for it was the only thing that kept her from speaking her mind to him completely.

The woman helped her into the bed, covered her with the coverlet, and retired herself to the corner. Evidently she was ordered to stay and watch Gisla. At least it wasn’t one those men. 

Unable to give in to her feelings outwardly, she lay there praying silently for Rollo’s safety and victory. Only after many prayers did some comfort come, and she did her best to fall asleep.

 

~~

 

Rollo had been on the trail for several hours, heading in the direction that Marcoul had indicated. It was already starting to grow light when they began to wonder if they’d gone the right way. Halvar was an excellent tracker, but had seen no obvious evidence that the men had come this way. Just plenty of footprints and hoof marks in both directions – which could mean anything, but mostly pointed to Odo’s troops having come through here on the way to Paris a day ago. 

They stopped briefly near some trees to rest and water the horses. As the men stretched their legs, Rollo looked about, wondering if perhaps Gisla had rested here as well. He sniffed the air, hoping for some remnant of her having been here. Nothing. Rollo lifted a prayer to Skaði, hoping that the goddess of the hunt would help them in their search. 

He wondered where Gisla was now – and with whom. Was she still traveling with the rough men who had abducted her – or had she been delivered to Odo himself? Rage boiled inside him at the thought of what Odo might do to her. He would kill that man, slowly and painfully.

Rollo drew slow breaths to calm himself. He would have his revenge soon enough, but now he prayed again to Hlín that no harm would come to Gisla.

As he glanced back towards the road, anticipating their departure, he heard Halvar shout, and saw him wave. He had something in his hand. Rollo rose and ran to meet him. He gasped. Halvar held a piece of fabric that could only be Gisla’s veil.

“She has been this way!”

The men continued with renewed vigor on the hunt for Gisla and her captors. 

 

~~

 

_Gisla sat on a big flat rock staring out ahead of her. She was filled with peace. The lake spread out before her and she watched the ripples as the wind moved the water. A slight animal sound, and she looked down, seeing the baby in her lap. It was gurgling happily and seemed to be smiling up at her._

“Your Highness.”

Gisla was startled out of her dream by the serving woman who had stayed in the tent with her. The woman said that she was to ready herself to be taken by carriage to Odo’s chateau. Gisla quickly said silent prayers for Rollo, for all of his men, and for their child’s safety – for after the dream she now believed she must really be with child – then allowed the woman to help her dress. 

Different men than those who had ridden with her the day before came to escort her to a large, wooden carriage.

A little while later, Gisla peered out of the small window of the carriage for maybe the twentieth time. Her guard, who sat opposite her, was surly and brusque – not much better than the men from the day before, though at least he didn’t leer at her. He occasionally eyed her suspiciously though, so she supposed that Odo had warned him not to trust her. But after the first hour or so, he must have decided she was harmless, for he had tended to doze. 

She eyed the knife at the guard’s waist belt when he wasn’t looking, but knew that it was unlikely that she would be able to overpower him even should she be lucky enough to grab it, especially with her hands bound. For although Odo had cut her bonds last night, he ordered her bound again for the journey. She didn’t understand why, for there were guards outside and riding above on the carriage, so any attempt to escape would be short-lived. And she would make no attempt to without knowing where Pepin was. Odo had never sent word of the boy. 

An hour or so must have passed, and Gisla began to hear a commotion. She leaned forward to get a better view out the window, but the guard pushed her back against the wall of the carriage. He took a look himself, called out the window for the driver to go faster, and turned to glare at her sternly, his hand on his sword hilt. She was suddenly unsure if he would defend her or kill her. 

As the carriage sped up, she heard shouting and the clashing of swords behind them – it was an attack. But by whom – highwaymen, or could it be Rollo and his men? A flash of red whizzed by her window. “Halvar!” she screamed, without thinking.

Her guard lunged at her to shut her up, and, now, gathering hope that she was to be rescued, she took her chance. She thrust her bound hands towards the guard’s waist and gripped at the knife. The jostling of the carriage made them both unsteady, but she was able to pull the knife from its sheath and brought it upward in a single thrust towards his throat. He seemed to realize what had happened, and throwing himself at her, he grasped her arms and she felt herself falling to the floor. There was a loud noise and a great pain in her head, and darkness.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/9rYN4KH)

~~

 

Rollo had just felled the last of the guards in this section of the convoy when he heard Halvar yelling. 

“Rollo, she’s here!”

Rollo maneuvered his horse so he could see where Halvar was. He had caught up to a large wooden carriage and stopped it. Rollo spurred the horse forward and rode up to where Halvar was fighting off two guards, and saw that a third had leaped down from the carriage to join his comrades. Rollo hurried to help Halvar. He was aware that several of his men had stayed back to hold off any additional guards. 

Two guards were killed, and Halvar continued fighting with the third, and seemed to have things well in hand. So Rollo ran to the carriage and yanked open the door. 

He gasped at what he saw. It was a bloodbath.

A huge guard lay prone on the floor of the carriage, and under him – _Gisla_. Her hair streamed out around her and she seemed drenched in blood. 

“God, no! Gisla!” Rollo reached for the man and wrenched him off of her and onto the floor, thrusting his axe into his chest. The man lay still.

Then he turned to Gisla, who did not stir. _So much blood_. He gathered her gently in his arms and bore her carefully out of the carriage and sank to his knees on the ground, cradling her. She did not seem to be breathing. “Ah, my Gisla,” he wept. But he did not give up. He gently patted her cheeks, pressed on her chest, trying to find where she was injured, trying to revive her. He realized with fury that her hands and feet were bound, and cut through the bonds with his knife. 

He continued to work over her, nearly giving up hope, when at last she gave a slight cough, gasped for breath, and opened her eyes. 

“Rollo! You are alive!” she cried, weeping, and struggled to lift her hands to him. 

“Gisla! Oh, praise Odin!” He gathered her in his arms and they clung to each other. But Rollo felt her blood seeping through his tunic. “Gisla, you are bleeding.”

“Am I?” She appeared to be stunned, in the fogginess of those who were wounded, as he had seen all too many times on the battlefield. 

“Yes, my love, tell me where it hurts.”

She moved her hand to the back of her head in a daze. “My head…my back.”

He examined her there and saw no wounds, indeed, no blood. “You are not bleeding there.” He patted her down again and could not find the source of the wounds.

“No?” She pulled back a little and looked down at her bloodstained gown. He watched as she glanced around her at the carriage and the dead guard just beyond them. Suddenly she laughed and cried at once. “It is not my blood. It is his. The guard’s. I stabbed him with his own knife. Just as you taught me.”

Rollo was surprised, and proud. “You did? And you are not hurt?” He ran his hands over her yet again.

She shook her head slowly. “Only a little bruised perhaps.”

“Thank God. We must try to wash the blood away.” 

He looked about for something to wash with, but she waved him away and looked at him seriously. “Rollo, I thought you were dead. Odo wanted to kill you.” 

He realized that he had escaped death just as she had. “And I thought you were.” They embraced tightly and she laid her head on his shoulder.

He glanced up to see Halvar approaching. A look of horror came over his face and he gave a great sigh of grief. “Ah, Rollo, I'm sorry.”

“Sorry that my wife is alive?”

“What? So much blood.” 

Gisla pulled a little away from Rollo and looked up at Halvar. He looked surprised. Rollo explained where the blood had come from.

Halvar laughed then. “You are married to a shield maiden!”

Rollo helped Gisla to her feet. “We must go after Odo, try to take him before he retreats back to his chateau.”

Gisla grasped his arm. “Please, no, Rollo – he has another army that may be coming. You don’t have that many men with you, do you?”

Rollo and Halvar exchanged glances. Rollo tried to reassure her. “We can catch up to him and take him by surprise just as we did with the men here.”

“Please, Rollo, take me home. I am afraid for the child I may be carrying.”

His heart leapt with joy and then with fear. “You are with child? You did not tell me.”

“I was not sure. I did not want to worry you if I was wrong. But last night, I dreamed that I held a child. It must be a sign.”

“And you have no pains? They have not harmed you – or the child?”

“So far, no.” 

Halvar interrupted. “Rollo, you take some men and go back with her. It will be good for the people to see that you are both safe. I will take the rest of the men and track Odo. If I catch him, I’ll–”

“Kill him. You may have the honor. Just bring me his head.”

“He should be tried and executed in Paris as a traitor.” Gisla sounded determined.

Rollo glanced at her, then back to Halvar. “Well, if it’s possible. But take no undue risks.”

Halvar nodded curtly, and turned to organize the men.

“Oh, wait.” Gisla’s voice was tinged with concern. “Pepin was taken with me. Have you seen him?” 

Rollo glanced at Halvar and both men shook their heads. “We’ll find him. He’s good at hiding, at least we know that.”

“Odo may have taken Pepin with him.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for him, don’t worry. He’s a smart boy – he will be all right.” Halvar’s booming voice seemed to reassure Gisla. 

Rollo helped Gisla onto a horse, giving her his cloak and settling it around her. They wished Halvar and his contingent well, and set off for Rouen. 

 

~~

 

It was well into the night when Rollo finally slipped into bed next to Gisla. 

“At last, you are here. All is well?” She had been fussed over, bathed, and put to bed by her very relieved ladies some time ago. But Rollo had insisted on checking some of the city defenses before resting himself. 

He sighed deeply as he sank into the mattress and drew the covers up around him. “So it seems. The guards assured me that none of Odo’s men remain. There have been no further attacks and all is secure.”

“Good.” 

“It was gratifying to be welcomed so warmly when we returned. I did not expect the people to show me so much fondness.” Rollo and Gisla’s triumphal entry to the city had been joyously lauded by those who were awake to greet them. And the leader of the city guard had alerted the archbishop, who had had the cathedral bells rung in celebration despite the late hour. People had poured out into the main street to hail them. 

“Of course they would! You are their lord. You lead them well.”

“And I brought them their princess back.”

“Yes, but it is not just that. They love you. They know you care for them and the city. You have earned your place here.” 

“And here?” He moved a little closer to her.

“And here.” She snuggled up to him, kissing his cheek. “It is so good to be safe again here with you.”

He snaked an arm under her neck and drew her towards him. “I agree.” He gave her a tender kiss on the lips, which she returned with such fervor that he pulled away slightly, surprise showing on his face in the candlelight. “Gisla?”

She smiled at him sheepishly, blushing. “I want you, Rollo,” she whispered. “But I know you must be exhausted. And you are wounded.” She lightly touched his arm below the bandage. 

“It is nothing.” He gave her an apologetic grin. “And I can’t believe I am saying this, but I am too tired. I would collapse on you and crush you as I slept.”

Gisla giggled and cuddled against him. “I know – it’s all right. But I wanted you to know.” She grew serious. “I was so afraid that I would never see you again – never lie in your arms, feel your touch again.”

Rollo squeezed her tighter. “I feared the same – and worried about what that swine would do to you.”

She shivered. “Oh, I do not want to think of him now. Only you.” She nuzzled his cheek.

He sighed happily and pressed a kiss to her temple. “But surely you are tired as well? And does not your head still hurt?”

She rubbed the back of her head. “Indeed. And _so_ much riding.”

He chuckled deep in his chest and she felt his hand groping for, then rubbing her bruised backside. She giggled again. He murmured in her ear, “Perhaps tomorrow.”

She nodded against him. “For certain, tomorrow.” 

He may have nodded back to her, or it could have just been his head sinking into the pillow as he succumbed to sleep. She caressed him softly, whispered one last prayer of thanksgiving, and settled down to join him. 

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/BrGwN1F)

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Cultural Notes:
> 
> Hlin – Norse goddess who comforts and protects.
> 
> Skadi – goddess of the hunt, particularly bowhunting.
> 
> Varnan – warning 
> 
> Meili – son of Odin, god of chaotic battle
> 
> ~~


	25. The Princess and the Bear and the Traitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Rollo and Gisla enjoy their reunion, but must soon deal with Odo.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Notes: Many thanks to Swimmingfox as always for her untiring editorial help. Thanks too to UnderTheSkyline for her double dose of story feedback, and to Windchimed for her eagle-eyed editing. Kudos to two artists for this chapter, DaizyDoe who offered this first lovely piece, and to LaureDessine, who provided the later piece. Both capture the feelings and tone I hoped to express in the story.
> 
> And to my readers, thanks for continuing to follow my story with such patience.  
>   
> 

~~

 

[](http://imgur.com/2uS3ncD)

“Moon and Sun” by [ DaizyDoe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DaizyDoe/), inspired by Klimt’s “The Kiss”

 

~~

 

Rollo woke to his wife’s soft voice chanting something. Groggy, he stretched and looked around for her. She was not in bed but at her prie-dieu deep in prayer. It reminded him of their wedding morning. He knew that she did not feel the same way that she did then, but for a moment, he worried that he’d dreamed this whole past year. He whispered her name, just as he’d done that morning. 

Gisla turned, startled, but then smiled at him – almost conspiratorially, such that he was startled himself. And she did just what she’d done on their first morning together: she turned back to the altar, finished her prayer quickly, and then rose and came back to the bed. 

But unlike that first morning, she made no hesitation: she slipped out of her robe, revealing her bare skin to him, giggled lightly, and scrambled under the covers next to him. He was astounded. 

“How are you feeling this morning?” Her whisper was right in his ear.

Still somewhat in shock, he wrapped his arms around her and murmured into her hair, “Good, I’m very good.” 

And soon, as Gisla’s lips took possession of his, he actually meant it.

A little later, dozing and cuddling by turns, they began to wake. Rollo nuzzled Gisla’s cheek and stroked her hair. “I thought of our first morning together just now.”

“Really? But now is so different.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. You were praying so intently – then and now. What were you praying about?”

“Then? I was asking God for understanding about why I had to marry you.” She smiled sheepishly, and then her smile turned devilish. “And why He made sex so disgusting.”

Rollo drew back in mock surprise. “Disgusting? You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t then. But now…” She blushed and turned her face a bit from his. “Now I like it. Though it is still a little disgusting. Messy, you know.”

He chuckled and hugged her closer. “But without that, we could not have a child.”

“I know.”

A thought occurred to him. “Gisla, if you are with child, are you not troubled that we are making love? Should we not, um….” He struggled for the word.

“Abstain. Yes. It’s very sinful of me. I should not want to do this. But I do. After having nearly lost you – and spending all day yesterday resting and waiting for news – I want to be close to you now. And what do you think I was praying about this morning?”

He smiled. “But we have umm, dispen– what is the word?”

“Dispensation. I suppose it is still so, though I should ask the Archbishop again. But it was dispensation for _you_ , not _me_.”

He laughed again. “It is all right for me to be sinful, but not you?”

“You were new to Christianity then. We should both be more devout now, should we not?”

“Ah, Gisla, I could not stop wanting you no matter how devout I become.” He kissed her again. 

She did not resist, but he heard her murmur as he trailed kisses down her neck, “I will ask forgiveness later….”

 

~~

 

They slept late, for Gisla had ordered her ladies not to disturb them unless there was some pressing news. But once Rollo woke again, he was unable to stay still and hurried out to inspect the defenses and his men. 

Gisla whispered her possible news to Rosamund and had her send for the midwife. The midwife said that it was a little too early to tell, that they would know for sure in another week or two. Gisla had mixed feelings about this. She longed to be with child again, but after her recent misadventure with Odo, and the specter of Ragnar still hanging over them, she worried that some harm would come to a child born into this uncertain world.

Rosamund insisted that she rest inside for the day, and for once Gisla didn’t argue – she was still tired from her ordeal on the road. She and her ladies sat talking and sewing when one of the palace ministers was ushered in, carrying letters from Paris.

Gisla set aside her sewing and went through the letters quickly. One from the finance minister, some notices from merchants, and one from Sir Roland. Nothing from her father, though. She wondered what he must be thinking of this attack. Did he finally accept that Odo was a traitor?

She opened the one from Roland and read with relief that Odo’s troops had been repelled. Many had retreated the previous night. Roland was not relaxing his vigilance, but began to believe that the enemy forces had been instructed to expect immediate victory and entry to the city – perhaps welcome as a liberating force rather than an attacking one – and when they did not achieve that, had retreated. He had no word from Rollo, but presumed that his forces were a big part of why the enemy forces had withdrawn so quickly. They had not expected so many attacks on the ground before even laying siege to the city walls.

Gisla felt a lightening of her fears. If this was true, Odo’s troops would go all the way east and give up on this folly. All had depended on a quick strike and admittance to the city, as Odo had predicted. Gisla rejoiced that Odo had been wrong.

She shared the news with her ladies, and they shared a little prayer of thanksgiving for what seemed a victory. Then she read a little farther, to see if there was any personal news. What she read made her draw in her breath sharply. 

“What is it?” Rosamund’s voice was tremulous.

Gisla could not as yet answer.

Ermengarde’s usually jovial tone was anxious. “Not Clothild or the child?”

“No. Ermengarde, please come and sit by me.”

The woman laid down her sewing and came at once, seemingly eager to comfort Gisla. Rosamund shot Gisla a concerned look. 

When Ermengarde was seated, Gisla broke the sad news. “Ermengarde, Roland reported about the casualties from the battles. Bertin was one of them.”

“My B–Bertin?” Ermengarde’s voice broke as she spoke. “But how? He commands men on the city wall. He should have been safe!”

Gisla nodded sadly. “Roland says that Bertin wanted to be in the vanguard fighting outside the city wall. He led troops there and the fighting was very fierce. His men won, but Bertin was killed.”

“Killed! Oh, my dear Bertin!” Ermengarde began to weep, and the women gathered around her, comforting her. After a little while, she calmed slightly and asked in a voice muffled by her handkerchief, “Did he suffer? Does it say? Did he say anything before he died?”

“No, Roland says it was very quick. When the men came to carry away the wounded shortly after the enemy retreated, Bertin was already dead. I’m so sorry.” 

Ermengarde was lost to grief after that, and Gisla put her arm around her friend, wishing there was something she could say or do to take away the pain. She prayed silently for Bertin’s soul, and for Ermengarde.

 

~~

 

Rollo took the stairs in twos and hurried down the hall. He had big news to give Gisla. But when he arrived to their chambers, he heard weeping within. His heart sank. He opened the door cautiously and saw Gisla and Ermengarde in each other’s arms, both in tears, and the other women gathered around them, crying as well. What could be the matter? He could not see Gisla’s face – had she lost the child?

Rosamund noticed him and touched Gisla lightly on the shoulder. Gisla pulled away from Ermengarde and looked over at him tearfully. She rose from her seat, and came across to him, drying her eyes. 

He could see that she seemed physically well, but must still be anguished. “Ah, Gisla, so you are not with child?”

Gisla dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, slowly shaking her head. “No. I mean – that is not what this is about.” She glanced back at the women and Rollo could see that perhaps it was Ermengarde who grieved. Gisla turned back to him, tears filling her eyes as she spoke. “We received word that her husband Bertin was killed in the fighting.” 

“Ah.” Rollo nodded knowingly – he knew that Bertin had longed to fight in the vanguard and perhaps had gotten his chance. “I’m sorry, Gisla. He was a good man.” He glanced over to Ermengarde, thinking to offer her condolences, but the woman had buried her head in Rosamund’s arms and it seemed not the right time. “You will tell her how sorry I am?”

Gisla nodded. 

He started to leave, but Gisla stopped him.

“What did you come in for?”

“I nearly forgot. There is other news.” He watched as her eyes grew wide with anticipation. “Halvar and the others have returned – and they have brought Odo. _Alive_.”

Gisla’s face grew dark. “Where is he?”

“He is being taken to the cells below, under heavy guard. _My_ guard.”

“Good. I want to speak to him.” She looked determined to come with Rollo at once. But the sound of weeping behind them made her hesitate. “Later. His insults must be addressed.”

“And they will. It was all I could do to keep from beating him in the street. But I recalled what you said about how a lord should act in public.”

Gisla laid her hand on Rollo’s arm. “You showed great restraint. Perhaps more than I would have.”

“Well, and Pepin was there watching.”

“Oh! They found him! Is he well?”

“Yes, he is fine. It was as Halvar said. He had hidden in a supply wagon and found plenty to eat. He came out when our men caught up with them.”

“Thank God!” She gave Rollo a quick kiss on the cheek. “Where is he now?”

“I sent him to be bathed and dressed properly. He had gotten very dirty. He is to report to you when he is clean.”

“It will be a great joy in a very sad day. The ladies will be glad to see him.”

Rollo nodded. “I will go and see to Odo’s cell now.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and left.

 

~~

 

A few hours later, Gisla left Ermengarde, slightly cheered by the return of Pepin, in Rosamund’s care and went to the cells. She had decided it was best to go when Rollo would not be there, for she had not told him of Odo’s rough treatment of her. 

Taking her guards with her, she descended the long spiral staircase to the cellar. She found his room well guarded with several of Rollo’s men. They nodded to her as she approached. 

“I would like to speak to the prisoner.” 

They unlocked the door and one checked inside to be sure the prisoner was secure. Then they stood ready in the doorway. Her own guards waited outside, and she could feel their tenseness as she passed.

She was shocked at Odo’s state of dishevelment. Sitting on the floor, against the wall, he had chains on his ankles and wrists – or wrist and arm, rather, since his iron hand was missing. He was wearing only a tunic and breeches, both badly torn and stained with blood. He had a gash on his forehead that needed tending. For a brief moment she thought that this was wrong – that someone of his status should at least be given some basic comforts and other clothes. She spotted his iron hand on a little table and picked it up, intending to return it to him. But then she remembered why he was here, how outrageous he’d been towards her, and the cost to so many men, including Bertin, and her resolve returned. She drew herself up to speak to him. He had glanced up and seemed surprised to see her there.

“A count, chained. Not what one would prefer to see. But what else can one expect for a filthy traitor?”

Odo raised his chin, seeming not to acknowledge this.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself? No apology – no plea?”

“I wish they had killed me. I could have died honorably then.”

“Your execution will come soon enough. But you will not die honorably.”

He did not flinch. “Might I at least request better treatment? I am a count, after all.” 

“You dare to expect good treatment, after what you did?”

“I was only doing what I thought was best for Paris.”

“Betraying my father? Seeking to have me betray him as well? How could that be best for Paris?”

“I thought you would see it sensibly – and be glad that you’d be free of these barbaric northmen.”

“You do not know me as well as you thought you did.” 

“You have actually come to accept marriage with that man?”

“Yes. And I could never have accepted marriage with you, a traitor.”

Odo laughed bitterly. “But he himself is a traitor – to his brother and his people. Does that not trouble you?”

“He has dedicated himself to the security of Paris and Rouen. And he is good to me. Not that it is any of your concern.” A thought came to her. “Though perhaps it is, after all, since it was you who suggested this marriage to my father.”

Odo grimaced slightly, then straightened as best he could while chained to the wall. “So, I have failed. I will die knowing I tried, though.”

“You will die as a traitor.”

He shifted a little in his chains, as if to remind her of his condition. 

She considered. “I will ask the guards to give you a pallet and blankets. And of course you will be fed – we must keep you alive for your trial in Paris.” 

“I treated you better than this.”

“ _I_ was not a traitor. And I was not so well treated as you wish to think – your guards were crude and kept me bound the entire time.” She lowered her voice to a fierce whisper. “And I will not forget what you did to me. You will pay for that.”

She had thought that he would show a little remorse, but instead his face clouded and he hissed, “That was nothing. I should have taken you while I had the chance – then you would never forget me. And I would have _that_ pleasure to think upon as I wait here for death.”

Gisla gasped, and without thinking struck him with the iron hand that she still held. He cried out and fell back, the evil look momentarily wiped from his face. 

The guards rushed in to see what had happened, Marcoul asking breathlessly, “Your Highness, did he harm you?”

“No, but he insulted me, so I insulted him.” She handed the iron hand to Marcoul. “See that this is kept secure until the trial. Otherwise someone might be tempted to kill him with it.” She gave Odo a glare, and with the guards all around him, he had the grace – or sense – to look down as if in shame.

Satisfied, Gisla whirled and left the cells. She gave orders that Odo was to be given the things she’d promised, but nothing more. 

 

~~

 

That evening, Rollo and Gisla made plans to return to Paris as soon as it could be determined that the city was truly safe from further attack from the east. They would oversee the trial and execution of Odo, as well as attend the funeral of Bertin. 

Rollo had heard about the incident with Odo, but Gisla would not tell him exactly what Odo had said, assuring him that she had more than repaid him for his insults. He was not completely convinced, but contented himself with the thought that Odo would receive his final punishment in due course.

Both of them welcomed the quiet and rest of their bedchamber that night. Rollo recalled Gisla’s passion of the morning and turned to her in anticipation. She responded, but there was a reticence that had not been there earlier.

“Gisla, what is wrong? You are different than this morning.”

She sighed. “I feel guilty.”

“Guilty? About what?” A thought occurred to him. “Are you with child? And you think we should not have sex? You did not tell me what the midwife said.”

“No. Well, I don’t know. The midwife said it is too soon to tell. I may be with child or it may be just as it was in the summer when I thought I was with child and then was wrong. We must wait another week or two to see.”

“Ah. But then, why guilty?”

She squeezed his arm and leaned against him. “Because I have you, but Ermengarde is alone. How can I enjoy our love when she grieves?”

He drew her closer and kissed the top of her head. “I know. It is very sad. But it is not your fault that Bertin was killed.”

“I know. But it is my fault that she was not with him. I should have sent her back to Paris when she was missing him so badly. At least then she could have been with him before the battle – prayed with him, seen him off before the fighting...” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “…lain with him one last time.” 

Rollo smiled. They had not had time for any of that before he’d rushed to meet the foe several days ago. But he did not say that. “Gisla, did you not give Ermengarde the choice to stay with you or go back to Paris? Did she not choose to stay?”

“Yes. But I could have made her go. I could have insisted. I should have done what was best for her, but I selfishly kept her with me.”

“Selfish? You are never selfish. I think you did what most people want – you gave her the freedom to choose. How many people have that? And did you not say that she would be heartbroken if you sent her away and she thought you did not want her?”

He could feel Gisla nodding against him, considering. At last she whispered, her voice breaking as she spoke. “Yes. You are good for me, reminding me of those things. Still, it is hard to see her so broken.”

Rollo spoke firmly. “That is Odo’s fault – and now we can punish him.”

Her head bobbed vigorously against his shoulder. “He will pay for his treachery.” She lay still for a moment, then sighed. “Can we just sleep tonight?”

“Yes, of course.” He hugged her to him, then they settled into their favorite sleeping position. He prayed to Hlín to give comfort to his wife and Ermengarde.

 

~~

 

Gisla stood with the wind in her face as the Viking boat carried her back to Paris. It really was beautiful on the river, and her heart felt lighter than it had been on the journey to Rouen nearly a year ago. 

She turned to look back over the ship and saw Rollo, having been supervising the men doing the rowing, making his way to her. She smiled welcome as he joined her at the bow. He put his arm around her as they enjoyed the journey together. 

“The last time we were on the river together, you were sad for leaving Paris. I had thought we would visit again before now. Did you miss it?”

“Not as much as I thought I would. It broke my heart to leave it, but now it feels almost like a dream that I was ever there.”

She found that there was an upwelling of joy in her heart as Paris came into view around the bend of the river. She leaned closer to Rollo and he tightened his arm around her, seeming to understand what she was feeling.

Many courtiers were waiting on the dock to welcome them and help them ashore, including Sir Roland. He and Rollo greeted each other as if they were old friends, and after a moment, he turned to bring someone forward from the crowd.

“Clothild!” Gisla was overjoyed to see her old friend and they embraced warmly. She introduced her to Rollo, and they exchanged a few words of greeting before the others joined them. Clothild had a bittersweet reunion with Ermengarde, who was pale and subdued in her mourning clothes, but the other ladies gathered around, cheering them both, and soon the party made its way to the palace.

At the palace Gisla’s father awaited them, surrounded by his retinue. “Welcome, Lord Rollo. My congratulations on a battle well fought. We owe you a great debt of gratitude for coming to the defense of Paris in our time of need! We will celebrate with a victory feast tonight.”

Gisla was glad to see her father giving Rollo such praise, which she felt was well deserved. But in his exuberance over Rollo, and eagerness to discuss the celebration, he scarce gave her any heed. Her heart sank a little at his formal greeting – so lacking in affection, nothing that reminded her of the loving father she’d known in her childhood. She realized how fortunate she was to have such a good life in Rouen with Rollo. And now she was eager to visit with Clothild and to see her little son, so Gisla counted her blessings and contentedly retired with the women. 

 

~~

 

Rollo was glad to be back in Paris to see and hear for himself how the battle had gone and how well his plans for the defense of the city had been carried out. He marveled again at the grandeur of the city and wondered how his brother had ever conceived of a plan to try to breach those walls.

Rollo had seen personally to the transportation and imprisonment of Count Odo after their initial arrival, though he left Halvar and a contingent of Vikings in charge of his guard. The trial would be in two days. Rollo had pressed for the trial to come quickly, for he wanted there to be no chance for some group of men loyal to Odo to manage to free him before he could be condemned and executed. 

In the meantime, there was the funeral mass for Bertin and the other officers who were killed in the battle. It was held in the great cathedral, the site of Rollo and Gisla’s wedding. As he stood with Gisla at the front of the church, he recalled their grief at the loss of their child. He knew that Gisla must think of this too, and squeezed her arm in sympathy. When she looked up at him, he also recalled their wedding, for her eyes were red from unshed tears that day too. He wondered if there would ever be an occasion of joy for them at church.

Afterwards, they accompanied Ermengarde back to the palace, where she retired with the other ladies to grieve privately. Gisla wished to walk in the garden for a time and visit her mother’s grave, so Rollo joined her there. He was reminded again of the time they had spent here a year ago. As they had done then, they admired the beauty of the tree, but this time they prayed together at the little altar in the garden. Rollo knew that despite the sad circumstances of their being here now, that they were both happier than they were a year ago.

Someone else had been with them regularly during those days, Rollo recalled. And while Sinric was here again in Paris with them to translate at Odo’s trial, Rollo and Gisla no longer needed him to communicate to each other. Rollo’s Frankish had grown so good that he sometimes did not even use Sinric to speak to the Franks who came to the court. But he was a good friend, and Rollo was glad that he had decided to stay on with them. 

 

~~

 

It was the day of Odo’s trial. Gisla had not slept well in anticipation of the event. She both dreaded to see him again, and looked forward to seeing him laid low. Gisla could scarcely eat that morning, though Rollo seemed not to suffer any such lapse in his appetite.

At last the hour came. The court was gathered in the great hall, awaiting the appearance of the traitor. The palace had been abuzz with the talk of the downfall of the great man who had once defended Paris, and now they would see him tried for his treason.

Gisla and Rollo sat to the right of the king, preparing to hear the case with him. There was a tightness in Gisla’s stomach that she could not account for. She had no affection for Odo, no regret to see him tried and executed – on the contrary, she was glad to see him brought to justice – but her stomach was tense all the same. Her thoughts were interrupted as the great doors opened and Odo was brought in. 

He had not been allowed to wear his usual clothing; instead, he seemed to have been given someone else’s clothes, plain and devoid of the markings of his former rank. Flanked by guards, he stared straight ahead, and seemed to fix his gaze on the king. When the group reached the area before the dais, the guards forced Odo to his knees, and a royal courtier began to read the charges. When he was finished, there was a long pause as the court waited to hear what the king would say.

Gisla glanced at her father, who was seemingly unmoved – or was he unaware? – that the courtier had finished naming Odo’s crimes. She cleared her throat to get her father’s attention, and he sat up in his great throne and looked down at Odo. At last he cleared his own throat and spoke.

“It is with a heavy heart that I hear these charges and see this man before me. For Count Odo has long been a champion and defender of Paris. It is hard to believe that he has perpetrated the terrible crimes that are attributed to him. And yet, I am assured by my loyal men that it is so. It is usual to give the sentence of death for such crimes. But sometimes it is also good to show mercy to those who have been led astray by misguided feelings. I am leaning towards the sentence of exile in this case….”

Gisla gasped and she heard similar reactions around the great hall. _Exile_. Was her father mad? She glanced down at Odo and her stomach twisted as she saw a smug look come over his face. A rage built inside her and she started to rise to speak. Rollo’s firm hand on hers stopped her for a moment. She turned towards him and saw that he too was seething and had reached out to reassure her. She calmed at his touch and nodded as he rose to speak.

She could sense how much he fought to control his temper, though he spoke with the same menacing tone that she remembered from the first day they had met in this very hall, when he had challenged her opposition to marrying him. Now he challenged the king directly. “Your Highness, I cannot believe what I am hearing. You would exile a man who has twice betrayed you – and who tried to draw your own daughter into his plot?” Rollo stepped a little closer to the king. “A man who has tried to assassinate me – who clearly meant to ruin the treaty that Your Highness made with me? A man who kidnapped my wife – _your daughter_ , a royal princess? And you would merely _exile_ him? So he may go and plot against you again, perhaps? This cannot be, Your Highness. This man must die.”

Gisla heard with pride the strength of her husband’s voice and words. She watched her father’s face as Rollo spoke and saw that the man blanched at Rollo’s forcefulness. Rollo remained standing, facing the king, awaiting his response. 

Her father stammered as he began to reply. “I – well – ahem.” Flustered, he straightened his robes, glanced again at Rollo, and then Odo, and finally drew himself up in his seat. “After further consideration, I find that a man guilty of such treachery is unworthy of mercy. Count Odo, I sentence you to death in the manner befitting a man of your rank. Guards – take him away!”

Gisla breathed a sigh of relief. She looked back to where Odo was being marshaled to his feet and was gratified to see his bewildered look. Good. She gave him a severe look in return. He would no longer dare to endanger them with his plots nor torment her with his insults. He held her look for a moment, then was jerked away by the guard. 

Rollo turned to her, and looked questioningly at her. She nodded approvingly at him and he smiled. There would be justice. 

 

~~

 

[](http://imgur.com/sH8EJBh)

 

A few hours later Rollo stood with Gisla in the place of execution. He recalled the day they had tried and executed the assassin. But this time, he would not be the executioner. He gave that honor to Halvar, who had risked so much to capture Odo alive. 

Odo was brought before them in the courtyard. He had been driven through the streets, as he had been when he’d been brought from the boat earlier, to this place of execution. The people looked on from their gallery, murmuring and gossiping as they waited for Rollo to give the order. 

Gisla stood quietly beside Rollo, her eyes seemingly fixed on Odo. She raised her hand for silence, and addressed the prisoner. “Have you any last words?”

Odo stared straight at her. “I die as I have lived. For Paris.”

Gisla stared at him for a moment, then turned and gave a nod to the priest who was waiting nearby. The man approached Odo, and making the sign of the cross over him, began to intone a prayer for the condemned. 

As Rollo listened, he recalled the executions he’d witnessed in Kattegat. Always before it had been Ragnar who made the judgments, and usually he who had carried them out. Now it was Rollo who had brought about judgment and was ordering it carried out. He marveled at how fate had changed his circumstances so much.

The priest finished his prayer and now made an admonishment to the crowd about avoiding temptation. Odo stared stoically at the ground throughout.

At last the priest was finished. Gisla nodded, and Rollo gave the order. Odo raised his head and gazed blankly ahead.

Halvar raised his sword. He swung it forcefully and the crowd gasped as blood spurted and Odo’s head rolled across the courtyard. The crowd cheered.

Beside him, Gisla gave one curt nod, murmured something that he couldn’t understand, and moved to return to the palace. Rollo noted that the guards had caught Odo’s head and were now placing it and the body in a box on the cart to carry it to his burial place. He was to be buried in a pauper’s grave, with no honors. Seeing that the palace guards and his own men were handling everything, Rollo went to join Gisla. 

 

~~

 

Gisla had turned away from the scene of the execution as quickly as possible and hurried towards the palace, only vaguely aware that she had left Rollo behind. She had been overcome with nausea. She made it only a few steps into the next street when she had to find somewhere to stop. Seeing a slop trough in a little yard, she raced over and retched into it. Putting a hand on a post, she steadied herself as best she could. Why was she overcome this way? 

Her guards inquired after her welfare, and she waved them away for the moment. She was not sure that she could continue just yet. An old woman came out of the little house where she’d stopped and asked about her. Nodding mutely when the woman offered her a cup of wine, Gisla stumbled to a little bench in the dooryard and sat waiting for Rollo.

Rollo caught up to her and sat down next to her. “What is it? The execution made you ill?”

Gisla held on to him shakily. “So it seems. I did not expect to feel this way – I did not feel so when I witnessed other executions. But Odo – he had troubled me for so long and plotted such evil.”

Rollo stroked her arm comfortingly. “Death, no matter whose it is, is always a shocking thing. Perhaps it would have been better if you had not attended. Come, we must get you back to the palace.” 

Just then, the woman returned from the house with the wine. Gisla took it gratefully, sipping it slowly. It helped. “Can I offer you some food, Your Highness? I have only simple bread, but sometimes that is all one needs….”

Gisla looked up at the woman, who peered at her knowingly. Of course. It must be that. But how could the woman know? Gisla smiled weakly, and thanking her, accepted her offer. Turning back to Rollo, Gisla whispered, “Perhaps all I need is a little bread before I rise.” She saw his face change as he realized what this meant. He embraced her gently, and together they prayed for the safety of the coming child.

 

~~

 

That evening, as Gisla rested in the sitting room of their bedchamber, a royal guard entered and announced the arrival of the king. Gisla was surprised, for her father had made little effort to speak to her earlier. 

“Father.” She began to rise, but her father raised his hand to still her, and came to join her, sitting in Rollo’s empty chair next to her. He dismissed the guards and her ladies, and settled back in the chair.

“To what do I owe the honor of such a visit?”

“You did not come down to supper – Rollo said you were taken ill this afternoon and needed rest. He remains below with the men, but I wanted to be sure that you were feeling better, as he said.”

“Yes, Father, it was a passing thing. I am better now.” She was not quite ready to share her joyous news with him, and she and Rollo had agreed to wait until the child was further along before announcing it.

“Ah, good, good. I have worried for you when you were so far away in Rouen.”

“Did you? I am sorry if I worried you.” She tried to hide her doubt, for he’d shown little concern in his few letters.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he sighed. “Ah, my daughter, you must not think that because I did not write of my feelings that I did not think of you often. I prayed for you every day, as I promised.”

“Of course, and I know you are very busy with many concerns.”

“I prayed that you were safe and that Rollo was treating you well. He seems fond of you, no?”

She smiled. “Yes, Father, he is very fond of me and treats me very kindly.”

“Ah, that is a relief to my heart. Many a day I grieved that I had forced you to marry such a man and sent you so far away where I could not watch over you with him.”

Gisla knew that even if she had remained in Paris, there was little her father could have done if Rollo had been the brutish man they’d supposed when the treaty was made. Could he have arrested the man he was counting on to defend the city? But she made no mention of that. Instead she could not help asking about her father’s motivations. “But you only made such a decision at the suggestion of Odo. Do you see now what he was trying to do? He believed that I would refuse to marry Rollo and agree to go away with him to win over your brothers.”

“Yes, my daughter. I see now how blind I have been about Odo. How blessed I am to have you. Another might have gone with him.”

“I could never have done that. Even as angry as I was at you, I could not betray you.”

“Ah, my good, loyal, daughter. And I was so harsh with you – I was so worried about more attacks by the northmen that I could not see what I did to you. Can you ever forgive me for marrying you to Rollo in such a manner and sending you away?”

He seemed to be sincere. Gisla was touched. “At the time I was very angry and fearful. I did not think I could ever forgive you.” She saw the sadness and disappointment in his eyes. “But God was with me, and Rollo had goodness in his heart. So yes, Father, I can forgive you now.”

Joy showed in his eyes and he exclaimed, “Such a big heart you have – just like your dear mother. How I have missed you!”

Gisla was again surprised, for never had her father written of such feelings. “Perhaps your missing me is what made you decide to remarry at last? To have a companion?”

“Yes, perhaps, Gisla. But I cannot suppose that I will ever be as happy with her as I was with your mother. I must pray for such a bond. And an heir, of course.”

“I, too, will pray for your happiness with her – and that you may have an heir.” She had to suppress the urge to share her good news, for her own hopes were high. 

Her father stayed for some time, and they talked of the wedding to come, which he wished for her to attend. They discussed plans for the decorations and the feast, and it was just like old times. He only left when Rollo came in, and then was so gracious to both of them, that her heart was warmed yet again. 

As she settled into bed with Rollo that night, she felt that somehow her life had come full circle. From the bitterness and tears of a year ago, to the reconciliation and promise of the present. She prayed that the promise would bear out in the future, and knew that whatever they faced, she and Rollo would do so together.

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical and cultural notes
> 
> Hlín (pronounced LEAN) is the Norse Goddess of consolation. She is one of Frigg’s handmaidens, and Frigg sends her to protect those whom she wants kept safe. Hlín also comforts mourners and kisses away their tears. She listens to prayers to Frigg, relaying the wishes of worshippers and advising on their fulfillment. Hlín’s name, which means “protector” or “shelterer,” is also seen as Hlyn or Lin. Information found [here](http://www.goddessaday.com/norse/hlin).
> 
> Odo – the real Count Odo was viewed as a hero and the defender of Paris during the Viking attacks of 885-886, and was elected king of the West Franks in 888. While he was at odds with Charles the Simple, who was chosen as king by a rival faction in 894, Odo ruled until he died in 898, at age 38 or 39, and was buried at St. Denis, Isle De France, France (the monastery near Paris where Gisla got the sacred Oriflamme banner to hold during the siege where Rollo first saw her. Of course, the real Oriflamme was not used until much later than the show is set). Charles the Simple became king in 898 and ruled until 922. Gisla, assuming she existed, would have only been a small child at the time of Odo’s death. More information can be found [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odo_of_France) and [here](https://www.geni.com/people/Odo-Eudes-King-of-France/6000000004870238938).
> 
> Random information:
> 
> The oddest things related to this story pop up unexpectedly. I was watching one of the final episodes of the Series 6 spinoff of the Great British Bake Off (thanks to AsbestosMouth and her story [“Baked”](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7934077/chapters/18134740%20)) and they mentioned dragées, which one of the contestants used as part of a centerpiece. I had used these as a treat that Rollo enjoyed when he was in Paris during the earlier chapters, but I had not bothered to learn how to pronounce them. In the baking show, they pronounced them “draw-zhey.” The lovely creation in which they were used (they are part of the “eyes” on the peacock’s tail) is [here](https://144f2a3a2f948f23fc61-ca525f0a2beaec3e91ca498facd51f15.ssl.cf3.rackcdn.com/uploads/food_portal_data/image/image/10883/compressed_Screen_Shot_2015-10-06_at_13.30.12.jpg). Hooray, Nadiya! 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~


	26. The Princess Takes Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Gisla faces new challenges.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  So sorry for the long delay! The holidays, the [ Rolisla Christmas Challenge](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9049420/chapters/20589196%20), and life, got in the way. Hopefully this extra long chapter will make up for the wait!
> 
> Many thanks to UnderTheSkyline, Swimmingfox, and Windchimed for all their editing help: you rock! And kudos to LaureDessine for her lovely illustrations.  
> 

  


~~

 

Gisla came out to the balcony as she often did this time of year. The flowers and trees were starting to bloom and their fragrance wafted up to the balcony and attracted Gisla. As she gazed over the beauty of her garden, she thought back over the past year. Last year at this time, she had been expecting a child, just as she was now, but she had been filled with doubts about both the child and Rollo. Now she was happily awaiting the arrival of a son or daughter – she’d had no dream telling her which – and preparing for another spring planting for the people of Rouen.

The fall and winter seemed to have passed so quickly. Rollo and Gisla had returned to Paris for the wedding of her father to Eadgifu of Wessex, and they had stayed for the celebration of Christmas. Gisla found it somewhat humorous that her father’s wife was about the same age as she was, and was every bit as assertive. Gisla had made up her mind to like the woman for her father’s sake, but found that she had had no need to pretend. Eadgifu was an intelligent, sensible woman who seemed to know just how to handle Charles. Gisla was glad to see that she seemed to have a good influence on him. Perhaps he had at last found someone who could be as her mother had been to him.

Her father had seemed genuinely happy at Rollo and Gisla’s announcement of their coming child, and Gisla had felt a special sort of joy in celebrating the coming of the Christ child this year. 

At the time, Gisla’s joy had been tempered by Ermengarde’s grief. Gisla had debated about whether to bring her back to Paris, thinking that perhaps a wedding wasn’t the best thing for her friend’s spirits, but Ermengarde had seemed dismayed at even the thought of missing the royal occasion, so she came. The pomp and circumstance of the event seemed to cheer her, though Gisla had wondered if Ermengarde would ever be the same.

Now, Ermengarde seemed to be doing better, although sometimes little things set her off. Unexpectedly, a particular bond had developed between her and little Pepin. Having lost his father to battle, it seemed that Pepin had a special sympathy towards Ermengarde. Gisla was pleased to see him bringing her lady flowers or doing little favors for her, much the same way that he’d devoted himself to Gisla after she’d lost the child last year. 

The door opened behind her and Gisla glanced over her shoulder to see that Rollo was joining her on the balcony. She turned back to gaze at the garden, and smiled to herself as she waited for him to come up behind her and put his arms around her, as he so often did. He loved to slide his hands over her growing belly to see if he could feel the child kicking. And this morning was no exception. 

“Good morning.” He kissed her on the cheek, then folded her in his embrace. He frequently rose very early, went out to take care of his various tasks around the palace, then returned to break his fast with her. 

“Good morning. There is the fried bread that you like.” 

“Mmm, my favorite.” But he made no move to go inside to partake of the food, seeming to just enjoy standing there with her. “How is my little one today?” He rubbed her belly playfully, as she pictured he would do in ruffling their child’s hair when it was growing up. 

“He is fine. Rather quiet now that I am up, but he was kicking like mad when I was still trying to sleep.”

Rollo chuckled. “A troublemaker. We will have to be very strict with him – or her.” 

“I am sure he will be at least as well-behaved as his father.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

He laughed and kissed her again, then pulled back to consider her. “Gisla, always you speak of the child as a boy. What if it is a girl? You know I would be just as happy to have a daughter as a son.”

Gisla grew very quiet. “I would as well. But I would always worry that she could be married off to someone far away. A son can at least choose whom to marry.”

“Ah, Gisla, you must not worry about that. I would never marry my daughter away without her consent.” He smiled and hugged her close. Then he pulled away and raised an eyebrow at her. “Of course, she may meet a bold foreigner who she wants to run away with.”

Gisla gave him a wry smile. “Some barbarian? Never!” 

Rollo laughed again. 

She smiled warmly. “But as long as she loves him, then I won’t mind.” 

 

~~

 

Rollo sighed and slid his hands over his stomach. “Delicious, as always. Nothing like a full belly to make it easier to hear so many cases in the court today.”

Gisla smiled. “If you are not careful, you will have a belly as big as mine.”

He laughed. Just then a servant announced Halvar. Halvar came striding across the room, stopped and nodded respectfully to Gisla, then rattled off some quick sentences in Norse to Rollo. Rollo sighed heavily. “All right. Have the horses saddled. I will be along soon.” Halvar gave him a curt nod, then, stealing a slice of fried bread with a sly smile, he sped from the room.

“Where are you going? Does he not remember that we have court today?”

“Yes, but it seems that I cannot hear the court today as planned. I am called to hear a case in one of the villages. Someone is accused of stealing a horse. They may execute the culprit without a trial if I don’t see to it right away.”

“Ah, then we will send word to cancel court here. Perhaps we can meet next week instead.”

“Or you could go without me.”

Gisla’s eyes grew serious. “Hear the cases myself?”

“Why not? You have made many wise decisions when we were together. Do you think you cannot if we are apart?”

“Of course not. But–”

“But what? Are you feeling well enough?”

“Yes. I haven’t been ill in months.”

“Then why do you hesitate?”

“Women do not rule in Frankia. The people may not like it.”

“You have ruled by my side all this past year. The people seemed to accept it very well.”

“Yes, but I think that is because I am Frankish and you are a foreigner. My presence made them trust you more. That does not mean they would trust me alone. Alone I am…”

“Their royal princess. You will never know if you do not try. They will surely be respectful.”

“What if they leave? Refuse to bring their cases to me?”

“I do not think they will. Why not try?”

Her eyes flashed with a spark of excitement. “Very well, I will.”

“I will leave Sinric to translate for you.”

“Will you not need him in the village?”

“I do not think so. My Frankish is fairly strong now, don’t you think?”

“Yes, much better than my Norse.”

“Well, we don’t practice enough. I should go. It’s a long ride.” He rose, kissed her on the cheek, patted her belly, and whispered, “Far vel, hjarta mitt.” He was rewarded with her glowing smile and whispered reply, “Far vel, hjarta mitt.”

 

~~

 

A little later Gisla was sitting before the court in Rouen, waiting to hear the first case. The court crier announced that they were to begin, and Sinric translated. 

Gisla spoke to the court. “Lord Rollo was called away to hear another case today. I will hear your cases myself.”

There was some murmuring, but no one argued or left. The crier called the first case, and Gisla heard it, made a decision, then breathed a sigh of relief as those present gave their assent to her decision. As the parties in the second case were coming forward, two Norsemen entered the court. One carried a sheathed sword in his hands. They looked about the court, clearly wondering where Rollo was, and were about to leave when the crier called them back. “You must not turn your back on the princess. You have not paid her respect.”

The men turned back, made their bows of obeisance, and still turned to leave. Despite their gesture of respect, Gisla was troubled. It did not look good that they would leave just because Rollo was not there. “Wait, please. Have you come to make a case? Why do you not stay?”

“We require Lord Rollo. A woman cannot decide such a case.”

Gisla was piqued. What could she not decide? “You have arrived late, have interrupted the proceedings, and show little respect here. Surely you do not mean such disrespect to Lord Rollo?”

The men shook their heads and muttered their assurances.

“Then please stay and join the court. For even if you do not seek a decision in your own matter, you are needed to join in the decisions of others.”

The men looked uncomfortable, but after all, these were Norse customs of hearing grievances, not Frankish, so they could not very well refuse. They moved towards the back of the room, taking a place near the door.

The people from the next case came forward. Two men and a boy, perhaps about twelve years old, stood before her. The first man stepped forward and bowed. 

“Your Highness, I am Fulbert, a farmer here in Rouen. This is Anno, my stepson, though I think of him as my own. Years ago I married his mother when she was widowed and together we raised him. But she died a year or so after, and left me with the child. Her brother, Brocard,” he glanced to the man beside his son, “came to the funeral. Despite my fondness for the boy, I realized that perhaps his uncle would want to raise him since they were blood relations. I offered to let him take the boy. But he said that he had five children of his own and only a small farm, so he could not afford to keep another child, especially one so young. So I raised him as my own.”

“A very generous and kind act.”

Fulbert dipped his head in thanks. “Now that the boy is nearly grown – just as he is nearly an equal to me in his work on the farm – my brother-in-law comes to take him, saying that he is ready to raise him. He says he has the right since he is a blood relative. Though I have married again and have other children, I love the boy as my own and would not be parted from him. I request the right to keep him with me here in Rouen.”

Gisla nodded, considered, then turned to the other man. “Why have you waited so long to seek the raising of your nephew? Surely if you felt so strongly, you would have taken him as a small child.”

“Your Highness, at the time I truly could not afford yet another child. We had just had our fifth child and with such a small farm – and my wife very ill – had little ability to care for our nephew. As our three sons grew up, we realized that only the eldest could make much of a living from the farm, so the other boys looked for work. My second son joined the infantry, serving in the emperor’s army.”

“A noble choice. I congratulate you.”

“Thank you. But he was killed in the fighting last year.”

Gisla grew somber. “I am very sorry for your loss.” She tried not to grow emotional at the grief it brought to her to think of losing one’s son. “Did your family receive his pension?”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Your Highness, and it helped greatly.” 

Gisla nodded for him to go on.

“My third son had a calling to join the Church. He is a monk at St. Ouen’s.”

“Ah, a blessing to the Church and to your family.”

“Yes, so it is. But recently our eldest died of a fever. So we are without any of our sons.”

“Such a tragedy. I am sorry to hear of it.” And she understood better why this man might, out of grief and desperation, seek out his nephew.

“Thank you, Your Highness. Our daughters comfort us as they can, but we are in need of help on the farm.”

“I see. And so you look to your nephew to provide such help.”

“I do not seek his labor without compensation. I would make him my heir. I do not think that my brother-in-law is prepared to do this, not with two sons of his own who will one day be old enough to farm his land.”

Gisla glanced at Fulbert, who shrugged in acknowledgment of this fact. Of course the sons of his own blood would inherit his land. “Now I would like to hear from the boy. Anno, what do you say to this? Do you have a preference as to where you will live?”

The boy glanced nervously from his stepfather to his uncle, then looked up at Gisla, tucking his chin downward in respect. “Your Highness, err–”

“It’s all right, you may speak your mind.”

He swallowed hard, then started slowly. “I am grateful to my father – stepfather – for his care and kindness over the years. He has truly been a father to me and has never treated me harshly – or any differently than he does my little brothers and sister. I do not wish to leave him – especially now when it is time for the spring planting.” 

The boy looked towards his stepfather and Gisla could see the affection between them. “Your feelings do you credit. And your uncle?”

“I remember my uncle from when he came to my mother’s funeral. He was kind to me and brought me a small wooden horse to play with. I would like to know him, to learn more of mother and my grandparents. I am sorry for his losses, for I felt the loss of my mother greatly. I would like to help him.” 

He raised his chin as he looked at his uncle, and Gisla could see that he felt pride for his family. 

“So, you cannot decide?”

The boy shook his head, looking ashamed.

Gisla gazed at the boy for a short time, then studied the uncle and the stepfather. They all seemed to be sincere, good people. None of them seemed inclined to take advantage of the other, though each might feel strongly that they had the right to the boy’s labor. They merely needed advice. “Here is what I believe you should do. Brocard, you are here in Rouen now, so I propose that you and Anno help Fulbert to do his spring planting. With three men, it will go much more quickly, will it not?”

All of them nodded, though the uncle looked a little confused. 

Gisla turned her attention back to Brocard. “Then, after the planting is done, Anno and his father will travel with you to your farm and help you with your planting. Working together and breaking bread together will help you to come to know each other and have more good will towards each other.”

Glancing back at Fulbert, Gisla went on. “Perhaps the boy can spend some time with his uncle in the summer and see whether he would want to live there and work the farm there. And then in the fall, all of you may help each other with the harvest. Your farms are not so far apart that you cannot help each other from time to time until your other boys are old enough to be of more help with your farm here. By then, Anno will be able to know his mind and make a wise decision for his life. What do you think? Will this not be a good plan for all of you?”

If the men were in doubt about Gisla’s suggestion, they did not show it, and there was murmuring of assent in the court as to the wisdom of this suggestion. The men and the boy nodded their agreement and the crier asked the court for their formal assent, which was quickly given. 

Pleased at how well this complicated case had gone, Gisla sat back. The other cases were not so difficult, and she heard and decided them for another hour. 

As she was about to announce the end of court, the two Norsemen in the back of the court rose, requesting something in Norse that she didn’t understand. She leaned toward Sinric.

“They want you to hear their case after all.” Sinric seemed as surprised as Gisla at this. 

She turned toward the men curiously. “They have changed their minds?” 

“So it seems.”

“Very well.” She nodded at the men. “Come forward, please.”

The men came, one still bearing the sword in its sheath. Gisla’s guards asked him to place the sword on the table in the front of the room. 

It was explained, through Sinric, that one was a swordsmith and the other a fighter. Sinric knew them; they had worked hard for Rollo, but Sverrir, the fighter, had something of a temper. It seemed that Sverrir had commissioned the sword from Óláfr, the swordsmith, and, according to Óláfr, had been quite pleased about how it had turned out. But then Sverrir had an argument with another man in the troops, and in a temper, swung his sword into a tree. The sword was damaged and when Sverrir complained to Óláfr, saying the sword was poor quality, Óláfr said it was not, but that he would repair it for a fair price. Sverrir felt that he should not have to pay such a price; that Óláfr should fix it for nothing.

Gisla had looked back and forth between the two, wondering that these men could not have solved this themselves. It seemed that Sverrir was the difficulty. He seemed a hot-tempered man. “May I see the sword and the damage?”

Her guards – who had been eyeing Sverrir suspiciously – came forward and unsheathed the weapon, bringing the blade to Gisla to look at. She could see that it had been dented, but knowing little about weapons, she decided to ask for help. She saw that there were a couple of other Norse fighters in the crowd, and that her own guards were knowledgeable, so she asked them to make an opinion on the blade. Each examined the sword and pronounced that it looked sound, and that the damage was normal with such use. One of the Norsemen commented, “What do you expect when you strike a tree with a sword?” and Gisla was inclined to agree, and knew that Rollo would too. The other Norseman offered to buy the sword if it were repaired, or if Sverrir would offer a discounted price.

Gisla thanked all of the men and announced that she had made her decision. “There are two choices here: Sverrir should pay the price for repairing the sword, since it was not Óláfr’s fault that it was damaged, or, if Óláfr is willing, he will give Sverrir his money back, minus the amount it would cost to repair the sword, which Óláfr has already agreed to do, and may be more happy to do since he has had another offer for the repaired sword.”

Sverrir looked a little unhappy about the decision, but since two other Norsemen were involved in looking at the sword, he seemed to realize that he was in the wrong. He agreed to pay Óláfr to repair it. 

Everyone seemed satisfied and Gisla felt a sense of pride that her day deciding cases had gone well after all.

 

~~

 

It was nearly dark when Rollo returned home. He was exhausted. It had taken all his patience to sort out the misunderstanding between two families who had been at odds for earlier grievances such that now one had accused the son of the other of horse theft. Rollo had been able to get them to back down from their accusation, as the horse had really just been borrowed without asking, and the two families had made an agreement to seek the advice of the town elder if any future issue arose. 

Now he wanted nothing but to eat and to fall into bed, but still was eager to speak to Gisla and see how her day in court had gone.

He found her waiting for him with their meal at the table near the fire. She looked well, and smiled her usual welcome. He kissed her on the cheek, and sat down to eat. “So, how did it go? I saw Sinric in the hall and he would not tell me. He said you wanted to tell me yourself.”

“Yes.” He could see the pride shining in her eyes. So it had gone well. He had supposed so considering that Sinric did not seem unduly worried. “But you are tired, and perhaps wish to speak of your own case.”

“No, no. It can wait until tomorrow. I wish to hear of yours.” Rollo listened – and ate – as Gisla related the details of the day in court. He was impressed with her patience and wisdom regarding the custody case, and her shrewdness in asking for the advice of both Norse and Frankish soldiers regarding the sword. “You did well. I knew you would. Even with Sverrir.”

“I am glad that you think I decided as you would have. It seemed really that Sverrir was being quite unreasonable. I did not say that to him, of course, but it was clear that the others believed him so.”

“He is a good fighter, and despite his temper has never injured anyone except enemies in battle. But he would do better with an axe if he is going to fight trees!”

They laughed together and Rollo was filled with pride that together – or apart – he and Gisla could rule Rouen. 

 

~~

 

It had been several weeks and spring was in full bloom. Rollo and Gisla had attended church in the cathedral and were visiting with the people who had come to pray for bountiful crops this year. Gisla had stayed near the church, for as she grew heavier with child, she found it more and more uncomfortable to walk as far as she had done previously. She was cheered by the villagers’ talk of their high hopes for the future, but she grew tired being on her feet for so long, and soon begged leave of them, and strolled about to look for Rollo. He had been drawn away by a proud pig farmer to see his prize sow and her amazing litter of pigs. She smiled to think of how Rollo had become so in tune with the needs of the people. She always loved to see that the people admired and trusted him.

She listened for his voice and finally she heard its rich tone resonating around the side of the building. He was talking to some woman; no doubt some matron who had cornered him to talk about how well her hens were laying. He was amazingly patient with such talk for a fierce warrior. 

As she turned the corner to meet him, she smiled, thinking of the patient look he would have on his face. He never seemed to tire of his duties as lord of this land. As he came into view, however, she stopped in her tracks, shocked. 

It was no matron he spoke to. It was a shield maiden, and he was kissing her.

Gisla gasped, clutched at her heart, and stepped back, trying to turn and run. But she tripped and stumbled and nearly fell. She righted herself, grabbing onto a fence railing, but by now Rollo was at her side, grasping her, steadying her, and saying with concern in his voice, “Gisla, go carefully, it’s all right. It’s not what you think.” 

She could not speak; her chest was so tight that she could scarcely even breathe. Rollo put his arm around her back and guided her to sit on a workshop bench. She could not even look at him. 

Gisla gulped air and tried to speak; all the while, he was repeating, “It’s not what you think.” Then, when she didn’t speak, he said, “Gisla, do you have pain?” He laid his hand gently over her stomach.

Finally, she turned to him and clasping her hands across her chest, managed to whisper, “Yes, _here_.” She choked back a sob. “It has only hurt like this when I lost the child. I gave my heart to you and now you break it.”

“No, Gisla, I do not break it. It is not what you think.”

“You were – _kissing_ her. I saw you.” Her voice broke as she spoke.

“No, _she_ kissed me. She told me that she wanted me, I said I was not interested, she kissed me anyway, and I pushed her away – look, there she is brushing off the dirt from where she fell.” 

Gisla would not look. He was like so many other men, lying to appease her.

“Gisla, _please_ , look.” Rollo took her face in his hands and gently turned her head until she faced the woman, and through her tears she could just see that the woman had her back towards them and was dusting off her skirts. Gisla looked up at him miserably. “How can I believe you? Of course she would want you. And you would want her – look at me!” 

She ran her hand over her swollen belly and looked down in agony. She had not realized how deeply she loved him until now.

“Gisla. I have told you. I love how you look. It is my child that swells your belly and you are beautiful. I want no other woman.”

Still avoiding his eyes, Gisla shook her head in doubt.

Rollo took her hands in his and spoke softly, pleading. “Gisla, please, think on it. Did I ever do anything before that made you think I wanted another woman? All those bad months when you hated me, all I wanted was to make you love me. Tell me, did I do anything like that?”

Reluctantly, she shook her head.

“I have had many women in the past, but I have not wanted any but you since coming here. I have not always been a good man; I am not sure that I am one now. But I know that I only want you.”

Gisla looked up at him again, searching his eyes for the truth. She thought she saw it there. 

“The gods have put us together – I don’t know if it is your God or mine, but I would do nothing to destroy that. I love you – I would not betray you this way. Please, say you believe me. It will break my heart if you do not.”

She took a deep breath and nodded slowly. 

 

~~

 

Rollo breathed a sigh of relief. Never had he felt so much fear of losing something than just now when Gisla had looked at him with such grief and distrust. 

“Come now, I will take you home. You must rest.” He needed to go get the horses, but was loathe to leave Gisla alone, even for a moment. Just as he began to rise, Halvar came around the corner looking for them.

“Rollo? Is she all right? Should I send for the midwife?”

“No – yes. She has had a scare. Get the horses first. I must get her home.”

Halvar brought the horses around and together he and Rollo helped Gisla onto her horse. She rode in her big chair-like side-saddle now, and a servant led the horse, but Rollo intended to walk beside her to be sure she was safe until they got back to the palace. He gave Halvar instructions to bring his horse back to the palace later. “And send Magnhildr away to one of the outer villages.” 

Before Rollo could answer, Gisla’s voice came from above him. “No.” 

Halvar looked up at her. “She is a troublemaker – we know that.”

“Then she will make trouble in the village – either for the people there or for us. We must not make an enemy.” She turned to Rollo. “You have said this yourself.”

Rollo nodded, but started to object.

Gisla turned to Halvar. “You will send her to me. Later, after I have rested. I will talk to her.”

Rollo spoke gently, but firmly. “Ah, Gisla, you need not do that. I will talk to her. She will not make trouble for us again.” 

“You have already spoken to her and she did not listen. I will speak to her. I do not wish to alienate her, but she will not affront me that way again either.”

Rollo and Halvar exchanged looks. When Gisla made up her mind about something, it was decided. Halvar agreed to bring the shield maiden, and Rollo escorted Gisla home.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/NCIkBFu)

[](http://imgur.com/FM5OMaW)

[](http://imgur.com/Bp9R5bN)

~~

 

That afternoon, Halvar brought Magnhildr to the palace, and the guards showed them into the great hall where Gisla was waiting on her throne, Sinric beside her to translate. Halvar waited at the end of the hall while the shield maiden walked to the front to face Gisla.

Though the woman was quiet and bowed appropriately, she had a defiant look on her face. 

Gisla drew herself up and looked the woman in the eye. “What made you think you could do that? To try to take my husband?”

“I wasn’t trying to take your husband – only to take care of his needs.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively. 

Ignoring her embarrassment that Sinric, and perhaps the guards, would hear this, Gisla continued in the same tone. “What makes you think his needs are not being taken care of?”

The woman looked a little disconcerted, and pointed towards Gisla’s middle. “You are so great with child, I thought–”

“You thought what? Have you ever been with child?” Gisla glared at the woman.

“No, Your Highness.” Magnhildr dropped her eyes, perhaps realizing that she may have made a bigger mistake than she’d thought. “I just assumed–”

“Do not assume things that you know nothing about.” 

“No, Your Highness.” The woman looked uncomfortable, but not regretful.

Gisla was not satisfied. “Have you not been treated well – given land, offered help in building a house, planting crops – the same as the fighting men in Rollo’s army?”

Magnhildr’s eyes flickered in surprise. “Yes.”

“Then why do you show such disrespect?”

“I didn’t intend disrespect. A woman can appreciate a strong man.”

“And if he had been the husband of one of your shield maiden sisters, would you have done the same?”

The woman’s eyes dropped a little. “No, I would not.”

Gisla fixed a cold stare at her. “Well, then, it is disrespect.” She sat back in her chair.

The shield maiden shifted as she stood. “I did not think of it that way. I didn’t think you would care.”

“How could you think that? Of course I would care – he is my husband.” 

“It didn’t seem that you cared for him that way. It seems like the fine folk of Frankia don’t really love their husbands and wives the way we do. You are all so cold to each other.”

“Cold?” She thought of all the passionate moments between her and Rollo. But those were here in the palace, in private. “But you only see us in public, at formal occasions. How can you know how we feel? It is not appropriate for Christians to show such affection in public as you might.”

The shield maiden took this in and seemed to consider.

Gisla leaned forward in her chair, speaking fiercely. “Know this: I care for my husband as much as a woman can. I have no desire to make you an enemy, but you will make yourself one if you try to be with my husband in any other way besides training and fighting. I will not be so forgiving another time. And you can tell the other shield maidens and all the other women the same. Do you understand?”

The woman nodded, but there seemed to be a slight smirk about her lips.

“Do you mock me, even now? I had thought you might be more reasonable.”

Shaking her head, and smiling more warmly now, the woman hastened to assure Gisla. “No, Your Highness. It’s just that you sounded as fierce as any shield maiden in battle – perhaps more fierce than some.”

Gisla calmed. She had been as impassioned as she’d ever been. “I protect what is mine.”

The woman nodded. “As you should, Your Highness. I was only wondering…you were good when we taught you a little of how to fight. Why did you not continue to train?”

Gisla was taken aback. She’d expected defiance, arrogance, and belligerence from the woman. But she was suggesting that Gisla learn to fight? “I had thought of it, but I have many other duties. I fight in my own way. And Rollo has taught me much – I did kill a guard when I was held prisoner, you know.” 

“Yes, of course – I had heard. But if you should ever wish to learn more, I would be proud to teach you.”

“You are rather audacious to suggest such a thing.”

“Yes, it is what they say of me. Is that not why I am here before you? I am a shield maiden after all.” 

“Do not shield maidens have to be clever – to be able to think quickly? Did you not consider that the shock of seeing your _audacity_ with my husband could have caused me to lose the child?”

Magnhildr looked startled. She clearly had not considered it. Shaking her head slowly, she looked down and murmured, “I’m sorry, Your Highness.” 

“Then I would ask you to think as carefully about what you do when you are not on the field of battle as when you are.”

The woman nodded. “I will.”

Gisla considered the woman for a few moments. At last she spoke. “I will think on your offer further. I would like to be better able to protect my own child if the need should arise. I would not like it said that I could do nothing to save him if we were threatened.”

“As you say. You have only to ask.” Magnhildr dipped her head in the deference that Gisla had been wishing to see when she arrived, and now spoke in a sincere tone. “And I am sorry to have offended you and Lord Rollo – and to have put your child at risk.” She looked up and Gisla could see the feeling in her eyes. “I wish you well with the child.”

“Thank you. You may go now.” It felt strange to be thanking this woman who just a few minutes earlier had infuriated her. Gisla thanked God for helping her resolve yet another situation – this one personal – in such a satisfactory manner.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/kAOzCAZ)

~~

 

Rollo was watching when Gisla returned from the hall. “Was she respectful?”

“Not at first, but eventually. She thought I didn’t care.”

“Why would she think that?”

“Because I showed no affection for you in public. I assured her she was wrong.” Gisla flashed her eyes.

Rollo raised his eyebrows, then put his arms around her. “She was indeed.” He kissed the top of her head. “I am glad it is resolved. I hated that you were worried for even a moment.”

Gisla squeezed him tightly. “I am sorry that I doubted you. It was just so shocking to see you with another woman. I had not given it a thought – such was my arrogance.”

“Not arrogance, confidence. No one has had that kind of confidence in me before. I would have grieved greatly to have lost it.”

“You have not.”

“Good.” He kissed her again, then pulled back a little. “I do confess that I find it a little – what is the word you use? Ah, yes, ‘gratifying’ – that you were jealous. To know that you care that deeply.”

“Of course I do! Have I not shown that my love is so deep?”

“Yes. But still to show jealousy – it is something of a compliment.”

“I was insulted when you were jealous of me. That you could think I would break my vows.”

“Ah, with Roland that time?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I didn’t have your love then. I was jealous of even your friendship with him. You spoke so sympathetically to him. I was envious that you did not speak that way to me.”

“I understand now. And I speak to you that way now.”

“Yes, and much more.” He drew her back to him and encircled her with his arms. 

 

~~

 

A few weeks had passed, and summer was nearly upon them. As the child grew within her, so did Gisla find herself needing more rest during the day. 

One day, she had been napping in the afternoon. Rising, she found only Herleva available to help her freshen herself to go to chapel. Rosamund, she knew, was with Joveta finishing the hemming of the linens for the baby’s crib, but Ermengarde?

“Where is Ermengarde?”

“She said she was tired as well and would sleep while you did.”

“Ah, it must be a bad day for her.” Ermengarde had seemed to be much better of late. “I will go and see if she would like to attend chapel with me. You may rest now, Herleva. You have worked hard on that project.” They had been sewing many little gowns for the baby, and Herleva was doing the embroidery for yet another.

Gisla made her way down the hall where Ermengarde’s rooms were. Inside, she heard what sounded like weeping. Perhaps she had been wrong to think that Ermengarde’s grief was lifting. She opened the door and went into the room, intending to give comfort. “Ah, Ermengarde–”

She stopped, horrified. For there in the bed was Ermengarde – with a man! 

Ermengarde gave a gasp and pushed the man away, trying to cover herself. He turned, laughing – it was Halvar. 

Gisla was stunned. She couldn’t move for a moment, then whirling, she left the room, and turning the corner, stopped, resting her back against the wall outside.

Inside she heard Ermengarde whispering loudly that Halvar should go, to hurry. And soon, Halvar came out of the room, his breeches and tunic on, but his boots and hauberk in his hands. He looked her over, caught her glare, then gave her a sheepish look and hurried down the hall. 

Gisla waited for another moment, then went back into the room. Ermengarde was dressing hurriedly, her overskirt caught on her chemise. She stopped when she saw Gisla and cried, “Oh, Your Highness, I don’t know what to say!”

“What were you thinking?”

“I was so lonely. And he is so warm and comforting.”

Gisla’s anger dissipated. “No doubt. But it is such a sin – and you are still in mourning!”

“I know. Oh, you mustn’t think that I have forgotten Bertin. I pray for his soul every morning. But it has been such a long time.”

“Not even a year yet.”

“More than half a year. I could not bear the loneliness.”

“But such sin – and scandal! And what if you were to get with child?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can. All the time I was in Paris with Bertin I never did.”

“You were not married that long. And it might be different with another man. You know what would happen if you became with child.”

“I know. Oh, please, my dear Gisla, please forgive me. I was weak.”

“It is not me you need forgiveness from. It is God.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

Gisla relented. The girl seemed so remorseful. And Gisla knew how much she had missed Bertin – for longer than just when she’d left for Rouen. She touched Ermengarde’s arm. “Do you care for him – for Halvar?”

Ermengarde blushed. “I think so. He is wonderful.”

“I know you have always admired him. But you have admired others as well, including Rollo.”

“Oh, not like this, no!”

“I know. And Halvar? Does he speak of love – or marriage?”

Ermengarde looked sheepish. “No.”

“But you would want to marry him?”

“I think so. Is it not too soon?”

“It should be, but now, I think if you wish it, and he is willing, it would be best.”

Ermengarde nodded, her eyes shining with tears – and with hope.

“Finish dressing and call Herleva to help you with your hair. I will meet you in the chapel for prayer.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” 

Gisla gave her one last semi-disapproving look for good measure, then rushed down the hall to find Rollo.

 

~~

 

Halvar had been with Rollo for only a few minutes when her heard Gisla’s voice in the stable yard. Rollo wished he’d had more time with the man before Gisla came, but now they would have to face her wrath. More than anything, he did not want her upset for fear of harming the child.

She stopped in the doorway. She looked at Halvar. “Did you already tell him what you have done?”

Halvar’s Frankish was not as good as Rollo’s, but his face showed that he understood. “Yes.”

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“We were having a little fun. No harm done – we are both adults.”

“Adults! That has nothing to do with it! Fornication is a mortal sin. Do you want Ermengarde to suffer in hell for eternity?”

Halvar looked confused and looked to Rollo. Rollo explained what that meant to Christians. Halvar looked horrified and shook his head vigorously. “No, no of course not.”

Gisla seemed to relax then. “Well, then, are you prepared to marry her?”

“M–marry? I, uh, I hadn’t–”

Gisla’s face became more disapproving. “Ah, you have not thought of it. You were only playing with her. Taking advantage of a grieving woman.”

Halvar looked again to Rollo for translation. When he heard it, he exclaimed, “Oh, no, it was not like that. I asked her – and she _wanted_ to. I swear it.”

Rollo was prepared to reassure Gisla that his man must be telling the truth, but he saw that Gisla had calmed a little. Her face relaxed a bit and she pursed her lips. Reluctantly, she spoke, “I do not doubt that – Ermengarde is too forward for her own good. But that is no excuse to lead anyone into temptation!”

Again, Rollo explained things to Halvar, and Halvar shook his head and apologized again. 

Gisla looked somber. “Well, I had thought you perhaps cared a little for her. We must pray that she has not gotten with child, for if she has, I will have to send her away – the scandal for her and for the palace will be too great. She would have to take the veil, and the child would be sent to an orphanage and never know its parents.”

Rollo thought this very harsh, but knew how vehemently the Church condemned such misconduct. He explained things to Halvar. 

Halvar’s face grew sober and he spoke quietly. “I will marry her.”

Gisla looked at him sharply. “You care for her?”

Halvar nodded. “But I am not a Christian.”

Gisla gave him a long look. “But you are willing to be baptized? For you cannot be married in the Church if you are not.”

Halvar looked uncomfortable, but nodded. Rollo put his hand on Halvar’s shoulder to steady him.

“Good. I am going to the chapel.”

“Now? So soon?” Halvar looked a little panicked, as if she went to the chapel to arrange the wedding now.

“To _pray_. You must ask Ermengarde first, of course.” Gisla gave Halvar a disapproving look. “She may not wish to marry you.” Rollo smiled to himself – Gisla was toying with Halvar. “I would not force another woman into marriage against her will – no matter how well it turned out for me.” She gave a sly look to Rollo, and he gave her a sheepish look back. “But I will make the arrangements as soon as you both have decided.”

Halvar nodded, looking relieved. Rollo had to suppress a laugh.

Gisla looked slightly less furious, but still piqued. “What is it with people kissing and – other things – with those they should not?”

Rollo glanced at Halvar, who knew all about the incident with Magnhildr. Halvar grinned. “It’s spring!”

“Hmph, good thing that it is almost summer.” And with that, Gisla whirled and left for the chapel. 

Rollo and Halvar watched her walking purposefully away, Rollo doing all that he could not to laugh before she was out of earshot. He supposed that Halvar was doing the same, but after a moment, Halvar ventured, “She’s a fine woman, Rollo.”

Rollo laughed, “Yes, she is. And so is yours. It is a good match, you know. She is nobly born, has a dowry, and inherited land from her husband. You will be a wealthy man.”

“I know. It is just – sudden.”

“Yes, but you have sown your wild oats, you are old enough, and you won’t face the problem I did – you know she already likes you.”

Halvar grinned and raised his eyebrows. “Yes, she certainly does.”

 

~~

 

Two weeks later, Gisla found herself in the chapel, watching the wedding of her friend and Rollo’s closest man. While she disapproved of the manner in which they’d become a couple, she was very happy for them. They seemed made for each other, though she could not see how that was possible considering their different backgrounds. But Ermengarde was clearly overjoyed, though Gisla was glad to see her keep it subdued somewhat, considering how soon after her bereavement this was. They had kept the wedding small, just in the chapel and with just a few guests, but they would hold a fine feast for them in the hall.

Beside her, Rollo was smiling warmly. He took Gisla’s hand and whispered in her ear, “What are you thinking of, Gisla?”

“That she is a happy bride as I was not. But I hope that she is as happy a wife as I am.” She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. 

 

~~

 

Music filled the great hall as the dancers stepped and twirled. From his seat at the head table, Rollo grinned as he spotted Halvar turning the wrong direction and nearly running into another dancer. Beside him, Rollo heard Gisla giggle, and he turned to see her lovely face. She laughed again, and he glanced back to see Ermengarde rescuing Halvar from another misstep. Everyone was having a good time, and Rollo was glad to see that his best friend had found a woman he could be happy with. 

The doors opened and Gulbrand hurried in. Rollo sat up, concerned, as the man came straight over to the head table. 

Gulbrand glanced about, then spoke in a low voice. “The signal fires are lit all along the river. Two signals.”

Ragnar had returned.

 

~~

Notes

King Charles’ marriage – Charles the Simple married Eadgifu of Wessex in 919 after his first wife, Frederuna, died (some sources say that he repudiated her; she died in 917). Eadgifu was 17 years old upon marrying Charles. He was 40. He had married Frederuna in 907, and had only daughters, but no daughters of that marriage would have been of age to marry Rollo in 911 when the treaty was made. So the real Gisla, assuming she existed, must have been a “natural” daughter of Charles by some liaison early enough that the poor girl was old enough to marry off. Eadgifu gave Charles a son, Louis IV (b. 920 or 921).

Since so many things are so historically inaccurate in the show, and the actor playing Charles is nearly 60, I aged up Eadgifu a bit. And of course, the timeline is off for the marriage also – in real life they were married in 919, but in my timeline – who knows what Hirst’s timeline is – it would only be 912, about a year after the treaty was made. So I made Eadgifu young enough to bear children, but older than Gisla. And with the personality to be assertive towards Charles. Someone needs to keep that guy in line.

More about each of these people is below:  
[Charles the Simple](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charles_the_Simple).  
[Frederuna](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frederuna).  
[Eadgifu of Wessex](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eadgifu_of_Wessex).  
[Louis IV of France](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Louis_IV_of_France).

“Far vel, hjarta mitt.” – This is my translation of “Goodbye, my love (my heart)” – I hope this was correct. I gathered the information in two places. Interesting that Floki called Helga “my heart” in ep. 420. I imagined that he said “hjarta mitt.” I got the language information [here](http://oldnorse.euro-talk.net/t8-basic-phrases) and [here](https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/hjarta).

court – the “court” that Rollo and Gisla hold is based on the Thing (assembly) in Norse culture, which met at regular intervals, and in which there was the rule one man, one vote. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thing_\(assembly\)%20).

crier – an officer who makes public announcements in a court of justice. That would probably be the bailiff in US courts today, but the historical definition of a bailiff seems more like a legal steward than a court official, so I used “crier.” Both words are from old French, so I deemed either of them reasonable for my story.

St. Ouen – a Roman Catholic church in Rouen which was dedicated to St. Ouen, Archbishop of Rouen who died in 678 and was buried there. Also, according to one source, any person, rich or poor, could become a monk, so I didn’t think it unreasonable that the son of a farmer could be a monk. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Church_of_St._Ouen,_Rouen) and [here](http://medieval-contol.weebly.com/monksnuns.html). 

Óláfr: Variant form of Old Norse Ánleifr, meaning "heir of the ancestors."

Sverrir: Old Norse name which was originally a nickname for a restless person, derived from the word sverra ("to spin, swing, swirl"), hence "wild, restless."

 

~~


	27. Ragnar Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Rollo and Gisla face what they have been preparing for – and dreading – for nearly two years.  
>   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  A big thanks to UnderTheSkyline for story feedback, Swimmingfox for her astute editing skills which I hope have led me to improve this chapter, and to Windchimed for her eagle-eyed proofreading. And to LaureDessine for another beautiful piece of artwork which readers will find right in the middle of this piece where it belongs. 
> 
> To my readers: Thanks for sticking with me – this is the "big" chapter. I hope you like it.  
> 

Note: This chapter begins right where the last one ended, at Halvar and Ermengarde’s wedding. 

 

~~

 

Music filled the great hall as the dancers stepped and twirled. From his seat at the head table, Rollo grinned as he spotted Halvar turning the wrong direction and nearly running into another dancer. Beside him, Rollo heard Gisla giggle, and he turned to see her lovely face. She laughed again, and he glanced back to see Ermengarde rescuing Halvar from another misstep. Everyone was having a good time, and Rollo was glad to see that his best friend had found a woman he could be happy with. 

The doors opened and Gulbrand hurried in. Rollo sat up, concerned, as the man came straight over to the head table. 

Gulbrand glanced about, then spoke in a low voice. “The signal fires are lit all along the river. Two signals.”

Ragnar had returned.

Gisla gasped.

Rollo drew closer to Gulbrand. “It is certain?”

“Yes – Ásmundr and Sigvardr are stationed near the mouth of the river, and you know they could make no mistake at knowing Ragnar’s ships.”

Rollo nodded grimly. “And so the plan has been started?”

“Yes. The ships were launched and the last will wait for you.”

“Good. I will be there shortly.”

Gulbrand saluted and hurried away as quickly as he’d come in. 

Rollo sighed and turned to Gisla. She was very still and her eyes were serious. He took her hand and squeezed it tightly. She nodded at him and he knew that she understood what must be done. He rose and signaled to the musicians to stop playing. The dancers stopped and looked about to see what had happened. It grew very quiet in the hall. 

“The time we planned for has come. You all know your places and jobs. You have practiced and are ready. Stay calm and do your duty. I have great confidence in you all. We will prevail. May the Great Father guide us and guard us.”

There was a shocked silence as the Franks in the hall digested what he had said. He quickly repeated it in Norse, and his men’s reactions spurred the others. The fighting men sprang into action, racing to gather their weapons and hauberks and to get to their stations. After that, nearly everyone in the hall was hurrying to their duties.

Halvar and Ermengarde came to the high table. She was fighting back tears, but Halvar seemed eager to get to the ships. “Rollo, at last this thing can be put to rest.”

Rollo shook his head. “Halvar, it is your wedding day. You don’t have to go. We have enough fighters without you.”

“I would not miss this – what would the men say?” Halvar turned to Ermengarde. “You understand, of course, my dear?”

Ermengarde nodded through her tears. “Of course you must go. Make it safe for us all!” She threw her arms around him and they kissed passionately. When they broke she said to him tremulously, “I will help you with your hauberk and see you off properly.” 

Halvar glanced to Rollo and he nodded. “I’ll see you at the ship.” Then Rollo turned to Gisla.

She had risen, and was clutching the back of her chair. Her knuckles were white.

Rollo put his hand gently on her shoulder. “My love, this is not how I wanted it to be – with the child so close to being born.”

Gisla swallowed, and releasing a hand from the chair, drew it across her belly. “No, it is better this way. If I should have to flee, he is still safe inside of me.”

Rollo released a breath. She was being so brave. He swallowed his own misgivings to reassure her. “You will not have to flee. No one will harm you. We have planned for so long – it has to work. Everyone is ready.”

Nodding slowly, Gisla smiled bravely. He loved her more that moment than all the times that came before. “All will be ready here. We will keep to the plan.”

“Yes.” He stood staring at her for a little longer, drinking her in as she looked now. Then he enfolded her in his arms, relishing how she melted into him, how they fit together perfectly. The plan must be a success – he could not lose this.

They stood that way for a few seconds longer, then he pulled back a little, kissed her tenderly on the lips, and looked into her eyes. “I will see you back here soon. I promise.”

She nodded and smiled tremulously, standing there as if she knew that he’d want one last look at her. He smiled back at her, then turned quickly and hurried out. 

 

~~

 

Gisla stared after Rollo for a moment, then a commotion near her drew her attention away. One of the Frankish noblewomen was crying hysterically, lamenting that the enemy would come and ravish them all. Other women around her were looking nervous and seemed on the verge of tears themselves. Gisla strode over to the crying woman, determined to calm her and the others. “Lady Fastrada, I have need of you.”

The woman was startled out of her tears. “Of me, Your H–Highness?”

“Yes. I need someone who will lead the other ladies to the chapel to light candles and pray for the safety of us all. You are known for your great devotion to the Holy Word. Will you not lead the women in prayers and hymns?”

Lady Fastrada sniffed loudly, then hurriedly dabbed at her eyes with the end of her long sleeve. “Of course, Your Highness. It – it would be a great honor.” She drew herself up, glancing around her at the other women – some of whom were looking ashamed at their momentary panic – and spoke in an even voice. “Come, ladies, we too have our duty to fulfill.”

Gisla watched as the women nodded to Fastrada. The lady then turned to Gisla, and curtsying, led the women out. Gisla tipped her head to each of them as they filed past her, curtsying to her as they passed.

Sighing in relief, Gisla then turned to her own tasks. Calling her women and the steward to her, she gave her orders. 

A little later, all had been arranged, and Gisla stopped for a moment to consider what to do next. 

Rosamund spoke up firmly. “My lady, you must rest. It is not good for you to be on your feet so much. You know what the midwife said about this.”

“I know, Rosamund. But how can I rest when there is so much to prepare?”

“Everyone is doing their duty, Gisla. They will not falter now. And…well, my husband said once that soldiers must take their rest when they can find it or they would never get any. You must do the same. You will be needed later.”

Gisla smiled to herself. That was just what Sir Roland had once said to her, that awful night when Rollo had been attacked. So much had changed since then. But this one thing had not. A momentous time was upon them and she must rest in preparation for it. “Very well, Rosamund. But it irks me that I cannot go about the palace and oversee how things go.”

“Let me do it.” 

Gisla looked up in surprise. She had thought Rosamund would insist on stepping in, and Gisla preferred to keep her close. But it was Ermengarde offering. 

“I know the plan as well as anyone else. And I am your lady, so they will respect me, will they not? And the Norsemen will respect me as well since I have married Halvar.”

Smiling, and a little relieved at the energy in Ermengarde’s voice, Gisla nodded. “They will respect you either way. Please tell them that I sent you to wish them well, to encourage them in their labors, and to thank them for their diligence. And that I will be praying for them.”

“I will.” 

“I want to help, too!” Pepin’s voice piped up behind Ermengarde.

Gisla surveyed his eager, sincere face. He had obeyed Rollo this time and stayed there by her side. “Yes, Pepin, perhaps you could accompany Ermengarde on her rounds? You know all the places that I would inspect.” She glanced at Ermengarde, who nodded reassuringly. 

“Yes, Your Highness.” The boy took Ermengarde’s hand and together they left as if to slay all the enemies of the kingdom together.

“Now you can rest.” Rosamund sounded amused.

“Yes, perhaps I can now.”

 

~~

 

Rollo stood at the prow of his ship, the cool air of early evening wafting over his face. Resisting the urge to pace, as it would only make his men more nervous than they already were, he grasped the stanchion that held his banner – his own banner with the wolf to counter Ragnar’s raven. 

He knew that he’d done all he could to prepare his men, both Norse and Frankish. Recalling this same journey last year, he thought about the differences. For one, it was still daylight and they could see what was ahead of them – which for now was merely his own ships that he commanded. And although, at the time, he’d been fairly certain the approaching ships could be Ragnar’s, this time there was no doubt. But most importantly, now he was fully prepared – his battlements were solid, his men were all in place, well-trained, knew the plan, and were eager for a fight – especially eager for this fight to be settled. He wondered if any of his Norsemen would turn against him. He believed not, for he’d made great effort to get to know all of them, to have them know him and see the benefit of staying in Rouen and being _his_ men. 

Now only their skill and the will of the gods would determine what would happen. 

A man from one of the ships ahead gave a shout – Ragnar’s ships were sighted and engaged.

Rollo raised a final prayer to Odin and prepared to meet his brother. 

 

~~

 

“Gisla.” Rosamund’s gentle touch accompanied her soft voice.

Gisla became alert immediately. “What is it? Is there news?”

“Yes. Some ships have returned. I believe it is time.”

Rosamund helped Gisla out of bed, and Herleva came forward bearing her gown. Silently, the women helped Gisla to dress, and Herleva smoothed and re-plaited Gisla’s hair. Once the veil and circlet were in place, the women helped Gisla kneel at her prie-dieu for one last time before she faced what might be her greatest challenge. She prayed with all her heart that everything would go as planned here.

A little while later, Gisla waited in the great hall, sitting on her throne, tense, wondering if this would ever end. 

After what seemed to be hours, the doors opened and Rollo entered. Her heart was filled with relief to see him well and whole. He hurried to her, caught her hands in his, and whispered fiercely, “It is well. The plan worked. He will be here very soon. All is ready here?”

Gisla could not speak, but nodded vigorously, squeezing Rollo’s hands.

“Don’t worry, _hjarta mitt_ , it will be fine. If it has gone so well until now, I’m sure of it.”

She nodded again, and then Rollo came and sat on his throne next to her. At least waiting with him safe beside her was easier than before. Sinric joined them, sitting in a low chair near Gisla, awaiting his role in the events to come.

At last the crier announced that the men had arrived. Rollo and Gisla exchanged glances, and Gisla could see that Rollo was just as anxious as she was. They turned towards the doors, where now the escort guards were entering.

When Ragnar entered, Gisla was reminded of when Rollo came into the great hall in Paris; she was just as nervous, afraid, and angry. But now she had Rollo by her side and she was a ruler in her own right – she was part of the plan they had for meeting this dreaded enemy. She watched as Ragnar looked about in wonder at the grandeur of the great hall and recalled that Rollo had done the same in Paris. She wondered if Rollo recalled that moment – and what he must feel at meeting his brother again. 

There were Frankish and Norse guards stationed all along the walls and walkway as Ragnar and his invited men came in. As Ragnar came near to the front, his men held back and he came forward alone. He stopped a few feet from the lowest step of the platform. Gisla could not help staring at him – he was so peculiar with his bare head covered in markings. 

 

[](http://imgur.com/hkQ5qr7)

 

Beside her, Rollo rose and descended the few steps of the dais to greet Ragnar at the level of the floor. Gisla smiled inwardly at how Rollo was still taller and seemed more powerful even than his brother.

“Brother, welcome.” 

Sinric, now standing just behind her, quietly translated Ragnar’s words. “Am I welcome? It is a strange welcome to see my own men guarding against me.” Ragnar’s face twitched as he spoke, and there was a hint of hostility in his eyes.

Rollo’s voice betrayed no nerves as he answered. “You are indeed. I thank you for agreeing to the truce, and being willing to come and speak with me.”

Ragnar stared long and hard at Rollo. For a moment, Gisla recalled that day in the great cathedral of Paris when they were all so shocked to see him alive, standing there with his weapon, waiting to see what he would do. Would he attack now? Did he have some hidden weapon? 

But at last Ragnar gave an enigmatic smile, a tilt to his head, and said, in an oddly friendly voice, “I found that my curiosity got the better of me.” 

Gisla breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

Rollo seemed relieved, too. He nodded at his brother. “You have met my wife, Princess Gisla.” He turned back towards her, stretching out his arm to present her.

Pushing herself up from the chair, she walked slowly towards the steps. Rollo moved back towards her, giving her his hand to help her down the stairs. Ragnar’s eyebrows rose as he took in her state.

When she reached the floor, she drew herself up and took a deep breath. “King Ragnar, Brother-in-law, welcome.” she said carefully in Norse. “I – remember you.” 

Ragnar seemed impressed that she spoke those few words of Norse. “A woman of intelligence, as well as beauty – and _________.”

Gisla had understood the Norse words for “intelligence” and “beauty” but not the other word Ragnar had said. She looked in confusion to Rollo.

Rollo smiled and translated, “‘Fertility’ – he means the child.”

“Ah, yes.” Her free hand floated to rest on her belly as she nodded first to Rollo, then to Ragnar. 

“You are going to be a mother very soon, it seems.” His intense blue eyes were disquieting.

“Yes.” She tried to smile at him as she would a well-wisher, and hoped it seemed sincere.

“It is good to meet you properly.” Ragnar seemed to be sincere himself – somehow his eyes seemed honest. 

She tried to push aside her distrust. “And you. We have – prepared – a feast in your – honor. You will please – attend?” This sounded very stilted and formal, she knew, but nerves had caused some of her Norse words to flee her.

Ragnar cocked his head slightly, a glint in his eye. He glanced at Rollo, then again at her. Then he flashed an inscrutable smile, dipping his head to her. “Perhaps. But first, I should like to speak to my brother alone, if you please.”

Gisla could feel her heart beating faster, but she forced herself to remain calm. “Of course. I will go and – see to the – feast.” She dipped her head to Ragnar graciously, and as she passed him, could not stop herself from whispering fiercely, and pleadingly, “I will not – become – a widow – this night.” 

Ragnar’s face registered surprise, then softened, and he gently shook his head at her. “No, Princess.” He looked as if he meant it.

She breathed a slight sigh of relief, and walked carefully towards the door. It was in God’s hands now.

 

~~

 

“Did you tell her to say that?” Ragnar’s voice was tense, but held some mirth.

His stomach tightening, Rollo turned back towards his brother and tried to be genial. “No, brother, of course not – I am as surprised as you are. No one tells Gisla what to say. She has a mind of her own.”

Ragnar stared at the door Gisla had left through. “A woman of passion.”

Rollo joined his gaze. “She wants our child to have a father.”

Ragnar dipped his head in acknowledgment. “What woman does not?” He turned, his eyes flashing. “So you try to soften me with a woman’s presence?”

His own anger flaring, Rollo had to compose himself before answering. “No, Ragnar. She was here with me to welcome you as we would any foreign dignitary.”

“With guards ready to kill me if I made a move?”

“Of course I have guards. I’m not a fool. But if I really believed you would do that, I would never have asked you here. I would have struck first, with force, while I had surprise on my side.” Rollo spoke evenly, trying to keep his temper. Having Ragnar here caused all of his past resentments to well up inside of him. Why had he bothered to have these talks? A battle would have resolved things once and for all. 

Ragnar stood looking warily at Rollo, as if trying to anticipate what would come next.

Rollo shook off his antagonism, and pointed to the table. “Come, brother, let us sit and talk. What can it hurt? Have some wine, some food. Hear me out.”

Hesitating for a moment, Ragnar took the seat indicated. Rollo poured some wine for Ragnar and for himself. Ragnar looked into the cup, but seemed uncertain.

“Ragnar, if I were going to kill you, you would already be dead.” Rollo sighed, and smiled wanly. “But I know I do not have your trust. So….” He took Ragnar’s mug and drank, setting it down with a slosh. “Hmm, excellent. The wine here is very sweet.”

Tipping his head in his inimitable way, Ragnar took the mug. He drank deeply, then set the mug back away from him, nodding. Then he sat back, his eyes calculating.

Rollo sat at right angles to him. He took some grapes from the basket near him, then slid the basket to Ragnar. 

Ragnar’s eyes fixed on the basket as if he didn’t see it. 

Starting in on what he hoped would lead to the point, Rollo began. “The harvests here are bountiful. You will be surprised. I hope to show-”

“How can you act as if this is not a betrayal?” Ragnar leaned toward him suddenly, startling Rollo. “Are you not prepared to fight me?” 

Rollo drew himself up, trying to steady his nerves. “Of course I am _prepared_ to fight. Have you not said that one must always be ready to fight?”

Ragnar said nothing, but there was a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes.

“I am prepared to fight, but do not _wish_ to fight.”

“And why should _I_ not wish to fight _you_?” Ragnar’s tone was menacing.

This was the chance he’d been waiting for. Rollo took a deep breath, drawing on the memory of his many recitations of what he would say at this moment. “Think on it, Ragnar. What if you had stayed here? The emperor would have made this offer to you. Who would you have had marry the princess? You? But you are married and have a kingdom of your own. And no one would believe that you were a Christian.” 

The corner of his mouth twitching, Ragnar made a grunt of concession.

“It is true, is it not?” Not waiting for Ragnar to answer, Rollo plunged on. “Bjorn would have been the obvious choice, for clearly you trusted him the most, and he is of an age with Gisla. But he too is married and is your heir, is he not?”

Ragnar dipped his head ever so slightly.

“Floki? He is married and would never become a Christian, and you do not trust him so well now, I think.”

Ragnar’s eyes narrowed and he shifted uncomfortably. 

“Who else might you have trusted? All the earls are married and have lands of their own. Kalf? But I think he is interested in Lagertha – and in keeping Hedeby – is he not? Erlandur? I cannot believe that you would put any trust in the son of Horik.”

Staring, Ragnar’s lip quivered slightly.

“So who would remain? Me. I was not married, I was already baptized, and I was willing to never return home to Kattegat. There was nothing for me there.”

“And what is there for me _here_? Why should I accept what you have done?” Ragnar snarled.

“What was there for you in Wessex?” Rollo had been waiting for this opening. “How _is_ the settlement there?”

A shadow passed over Ragnar’s face at this. 

Rollo took his shot. “Ah, so you know. When did you learn about the slaughter? Before or after coming to Paris?” 

Ragnar looked uncomfortable. 

“I thought so.” Rollo took a swig of wine as he assessed Ragnar. “Don’t worry, brother, I do not judge you – I am glad of it. My destiny lay here.”

Ragnar just stared at him in that unreadable way. 

“The seer gave me a prophecy before we left for Paris. I did not understand it, of course. Who can ever understand him? But–”

“I know.”

“You know? He told you? Well, then, you know how I felt when this offer was made. It all made sense.” Rollo shook his head, recalling the wonder he’d felt. “But Ragnar, I know that none of this could have happened if you had not decided to come to Paris. You put me in the place of my destiny. If you had taken me to Wessex to seek revenge, I would not have minded – all I wanted then was a good death so perhaps I could enter Valhalla. But this is something I never expected.”

Ragnar frowned and shook his head. Clearly he’d not expected this either. “So, what can I expect?”

“What you wanted in Wessex for our people, only more. Land – a place to settle where they could farm, no? Do you know how much land I have been granted? At least a hundred times what you were given in Wessex. Maybe more. And here our people are safe – they are defended by _our_ men, not Ecbert’s.”

His brother stared at him, skeptical.

“Ragnar, look. We have made this truce for one day at least. So tonight, eat, drink, enjoy being our guest. You will see the bounty that can be had here. Let those men you choose feast as well. Then tomorrow, ride with me and I will show you this land that you can send people to settle. You will be amazed.”

Picking up his cup, Ragnar twirled it slowly in his hands, considering. “And if I am not satisfied?”

“Is not the day after tomorrow soon enough to fight? Surely Valhalla will wait one more day for us.”

Ragnar gave a mocking laugh. “You are so sure of yourself, brother.”

Rollo smiled. “Not sure of myself, sure of my fate. Never have things felt so right.”

Ragnar shook his head, almost in disbelief. “You are happy here. Happy with her.” 

Rollo was almost unwilling to admit it, perhaps in fear of the fates destroying it, but he somehow felt that this was meant to be. That Ragnar would agree to a real truce. “Yes. Things are finally right for me, Ragnar. If only I could have come on this path without seeming to counter you, all would be well.”

Ragnar’s face relaxed. The tension seemed to lessen, and there was a warmth in his eyes that Rollo recalled from their youth. Could Ragnar be happy for him? An unexpected wave of elation went through him. 

“Very well, Rollo, I will feast with you tonight. And my men?”

“Food will be offered to the men at your camp, and those who came with you are welcome at our table – without their weapons, of course.”

“Of course.” There was a spark of wry amusement in Ragnar’s eyes.

Rollo waved his hand for a servant, who had stood near the guards, far enough away not to hear what was said. “Go and tell the princess that all will attend the feast as planned.”

He turned back to Ragnar. His brother had a strange smile on his face. Rollo lifted his eyebrows in question. Perhaps he had been hopeful too soon.

“I have one condition.”

Rollo was wary despite Ragnar’s playful look. “And what is that?”

“To sit next to your wife and learn from her what Frankia has to offer my people.” 

Rollo laughed in relief. “Of course. I am sure Gisla would be proud to tell you about her land and people.”

 

~~

 

Gisla sat at her usual place at the high table, with Rollo to her left. And to her right was Ragnar – the man they’d feared and dreaded for so long – making dinner conversation with her. Sinric sat on a stool just behind and slightly between them, translating. Gisla was amazed at how relaxed and friendly Ragnar seemed to be. She wondered if this was all an act and if he would still wish to fight despite the truce. She had to put her hands in her lap more than once to still their shaking.

“So you have seen all of these lands yourself?” 

Gisla shook herself back to attention. “Yes, well, most of them. I rode out with Rollo when we first came to Rouen.”

“And there is land enough for many people to settle? Will they not clash with the Franks living there?”

“There are some villages, but there is much unsettled land in the region. Plenty of good places for Norse settlers.” She thought for a moment. There had been a few scuffles between the Norse and Franks, but they had been settled amicably with Rollo’s and her leadership. She decided to be honest. “Of course, there can be disagreements among settlers of any sort. But we hold court – the _Thing_ , as Rollo calls it – and disagreements are settled fairly. There have been no serious disputes.”

Ragnar listened as she described a couple of the minor disputes that had taken place, and he nodded appreciatively at the decisions she and Rollo had made. “So, you rule side by side then? Is that customary here?”

She was surprised that he fixated on that and no longer asked about the disputes. “No, it is not. Rollo wished it, and because the people did not know him, they accepted that I would make decisions together with him.”

Gazing into her eyes, he seemed ready to ask her more about the _Thing_. But he surprised her again. “So, have you thought of a name for this child?”

She glanced at Sinric, who seemed amused at Ragnar’s capriciousness. “Yes. If it is boy, it will be called Charles, for my father, the emperor.”

“Ah, the first child is named for the grandfather, not the father?”

Gisla felt a tightening in her chest, and she took a deep breath before answering. “We have already named a child for Rollo.”

Ragnar looked surprised. “You already have a child?”

“We lost a son last spring. He bore Rollo’s Christian name.”

“I am sorry – a great tragedy.” There was a look of what seemed to be true sympathy in his eyes.

“It was. So of course we have such great hopes for this one.” She laid her hand across her stomach and offered up a little silent prayer for the safety of her child.

“Of course. I wish you well with it.” His voice, even through his Norse, sounded sincere.

“Thank you.” She wondered how he could be so full of contradictions.

“And if it is a girl?”

“What? Oh, yes. We will name her ‘Adelgyda’ for my mother and Rollo’s niece.”

Ragnar’s face seemed pure astonishment, and for a moment there was a hint of sorrow in his eyes. “You would name your child for my daughter?” 

“Yes, of course, your daughter. Rollo has spoken of her often. How brave, good, and kind she was. ‘Sunshine in the darkness,’ he says. He has said that he thought that if he had a daughter he would want her to be like Gyda.” 

Ragnar nodded, a look of real pleasure on his face. “And your mother, what was she like?”

“She was good, strong, and wise. Beloved of the people. Always she went among them to be sure they were well. I have learned much from her, and hope my daughter will share some of those qualities. Qualities of both women.”

Ragnar seemed genuinely touched, and Gisla was relieved. Surely a man who could show such tenderness of feeling about their child could not now still plan to attack them?

At that moment, the servers brought more plates of food, including a tray of escargot. Beside her, Rollo had been listening to her conversation with Ragnar, and now he joined in. Giving Gisla a mischievous look, he addressed his brother. “Here is a special Frankish dish that is a favorite of the emperor. You must try it.” He pushed the plate of snails a little closer to Ragnar.

Gisla looked at Rollo sharply, then turned back to Ragnar. “This is a delicacy here – but please don’t feel you have to try them. Rollo didn’t like them when he first came.” She hoped Ragnar wouldn’t eat them and be angry – or worse, get ill.

But Ragnar seemed to be appreciative of Rollo’s mischief. He gave Rollo sly look, glanced at Gisla, put his hand on his belly, and said, “If I eat another morsel I will be looking as if I too will bear a child.” 

Rollo roared.

Gisla blushed at the reference to her belly, but was relieved that the men seemed to be getting along. If only this would continue tomorrow when they rode out together. 

After that the dancing began and Gisla was freed from speaking so much. They watched the dancers, Ragnar laughing as some of the Norsemen joined them, including Halvar with Ermengarde. Ragnar seemed impressed that the Norsemen had learned the local dances, particularly when he heard that Rollo had learned the dances as well. Of course he asked that Rollo and Gisla dance, but was gracious when Gisla declined because of her condition.

The evening wore on with more music, dancing, and flytings, which seemed to please Ragnar more than the meal. Gisla began to relax a little, as it seemed now like any other feast. When they spoke, it was only of mundane things about the palace, gardens, or the food. She was surprised at how good Ragnar was at making pleasantries. It was as if he was just any brother from another town visiting his family. Perhaps they need not worry – perhaps Ragnar would agree to Rollo’s plan for the settlement of his people and they could finally live without worry. Or perhaps he was just good at making them think so – after all, he had pretended to be a Christian and they’d believed him, and he’d pretended to be dead and Rollo had believed him. She pushed that thought from her, clinging to the present mood in the hall.

That night, after the guests had been settled into their rooms – with plenty of extra guards on duty in the halls – Gisla lay in bed snuggled against Rollo. 

“I think that all went very well. I was so proud of you.” Rollo kissed her temple.

“I am glad you feel that way. I was so nervous that I would say the wrong thing.”

“Never – it is just as Roland once said, you were born for this. Entertaining foreign dignitaries and making agreements, it is just what you were meant to do.”

She released a breath. “Well, I hope we will not have many such feasts. And it is not over yet, is it? Ragnar must be pleased with what he sees tomorrow.”

“He will be. I am sure of it.”

Gisla pulled away for a moment, raising herself a little to peer into Rollo’s eyes. “You will be careful, won’t you? It is another chance for him to try to kill you if you let your guard down. We have both been fooled by him before.”

“Of course, _hjarta mitt_ , don’t worry. I will have many men with me. More than he will. Norse and Frankish. Just as we discussed.” He reached up to stroke her hair and gently drew her back down to rest her head on his shoulder.

She sighed as she relaxed against him and made a silent prayer for his safety. 

 

~~

 

The next morning Rollo, Ragnar, and their men had risen early in order to see a large part of Rollo’s lands. Rollo reassured Gisla once more as she stoutheartedly wished him farewell for the day. While he still had doubts himself, he did not let her see them. 

They had ridden for many hours, having seen the vast countryside that was yet unsettled, then returning back through some of the villages where Norsemen had settled comfortably. Ragnar had seemed greatly impressed with how much land there was and how tillable it appeared to be. Rollo had purposely taken Ragnar to two farms where Norsemen had been very successful and were particularly proud of their crops last year. One of the men apologized to Ragnar for seeming to desert him, saying that he could not help admiring the lay of the land here – he was a farmer at heart, it seemed. He had brought his wife and child with him from Kattegat and found that they were very happy and prosperous here. 

Watching the man’s son dash around the farmyard playing with a neighbor boy, a Frank, Ragnar seemed pensive. He thanked the man for his honesty and wished him a good harvest this year.

As they rode away, Ragnar glanced back a number of times before speaking, his face suspicious. “Are all of my men so content here? Or do you only show me the ones who are?”

“Not all – there are a few who would prefer to return to Kattegat.”

“I suppose they are locked up somewhere.” Ragnar’s lip curled as he spoke.

“No, Ragnar. They are living among the other men. I made an agreement with them when I first spoke of the treaty. If they would not fight with the men who wished to remain here with me, we would not harm them nor prevent them from returning with you. Since it was not my intention to fight you, they went along with it. After all, we would have to wait for your return for at least a year anyway, so why not live more comfortably?”

Ragnar was silent for a few minutes as their horses plodded along. Out of the corner of his eye, Rollo could see Ragnar’s face twitching as it so often did when he was trying to keep his temper. At last he sighed. “Well, brother, you seem to have been successful at getting men to follow you and at keeping the peace. Your wife told me of the councils you have held. I suppose I should congratulate you.” 

Ragnar sounded more resentful than congratulatory, and Rollo thought that perhaps he was envious, though his brother had garnered many more men than this and commanded great respect. But Rollo chose to treat this as praise. “Thank you, Ragnar. I learned much from your example. And as I have said before, I know that I could not have done this if you had not led us to Paris in the first place.”

His brother stared at him for a few seconds, then dipped his head in grudging acknowledgment. 

They rode in silence some distance more and Rollo knew that Ragnar was thinking it all over. He willed himself to be patient and prayed that the Norns had woven his destiny as he had begun to see it.

After some miles, Ragnar suddenly sat up straighter in his saddle. He released a breath loudly, turning his head away from Rollo. And just when Rollo thought Ragnar would turn again and speak to him, his brother suddenly spurred his horse and bolted away from the group, over the slight rise they had come to.

Rollo’s men started to pursue, but Rollo shouted for them to halt. “Let him go. He wants to think on his own. He will return.” And if he didn’t, they had guards along the river to prevent him from getting to the boats. All of his men knew this. 

Others of Rollo’s men were blocking Ragnar’s men from following him. Rollo moved past his own men to address the others. “You may go with him if you wish – perhaps you can help him decide. But you know how he is.” Rollo watched as the men glanced at each other, nodding, then backed their horses away slightly, waiting in a group.

The men eyed each other uncomfortably. Rollo knew they wondered as he did – would there be a battle? And he knew that many of them were itching for a fight – what else had his men been training for all this time? 

To break the tension, Rollo decided they should continue towards Rouen. “Come, let us go on. He will catch up when he is ready.” They headed up the rise, Rollo in the lead, with his rear guard behind Ragnar’s men. As he reached the top, he glanced down over. He could see Ragnar ahead, stopped – his horse restlessly stamping – staring out over the lands that continued down to the river. Rollo wondered what his brother was thinking just now. To agree? Or perhaps to fight and take the land for himself? Shaking his head, Rollo left it to the fates, and turned his horse onto the main path to town, away from Ragnar. 

The group had just reached the edge of a small wood when one of the men shouted that a horseman was coming. He was riding hard, and Rollo and his men turned their horses sharply. It was Ragnar. Was he intending to start a fight? 

Just as he reached the group, Ragnar pulled up hard in front of Rollo. His face was unreadable. Rollo raised his eyebrows, wondering if he should prepare for battle.

Ragnar observed his brother for a fleeting second, then cleared his throat. “Well, brother. I suppose we have an agreement.”

 

~~ 

 

Back at the palace, Gisla waited with baited breath. For a time she had been alone in her sitting room, trying to sew, but could not concentrate, missing many stitches. She’d strolled in the garden, seen to whatever palace concerns Rosamund would let her see to, and at last ended up sitting on the balcony, reading her prayer book, where she could look down into her garden and down towards the river. The day seemed to stretch for weeks. 

At last Pepin, who was keeping watch at the railing, gave a little cry. “My lady, I see horsemen!”

Gisla sat up in her chair. “Is it them, Pepin?”

Ermengarde rose from her chair to join Pepin. She made a little squeal of happiness. “Yes, I see Halvar.” She waved madly to him, then looked sheepish and said reassuringly, “And there is Rollo – and Ragnar, of course.” 

Gisla thanked God for bringing Rollo safely home to her once again. “Pepin, come away from the railing and help me up. We must go down and greet them.”

When they got to the great hall, it was only Rollo and his own men who entered. Ermengarde rushed to embrace Halvar, who laughed heartily at her enthusiastic welcome. 

Rollo made his way to Gisla and put his arm around her, walking her gently away from the others. Turning to face her, he looked deep in her eyes. “It is over, Gisla. He has agreed that we need not fight.”

Gisla could not help but give a little glad cry, throwing her arms around him. He gathered her to him, and for once she did not shy away from allowing people to see their affection. God had answered their prayers and all would be well.

Pulling away a little, Gisla looked about the hall. “Where is Ragnar? Did he leave – just like that?”

“No, just to go and speak to his men. He will tell the ones here about it tonight, then many of us will go tomorrow and tell those in the camp down river.”

“Ah, so another day of worrying, then.”

“No, it will be all right. I am sure of it.” He hugged her again, then stepped back, still holding her hands, apprehension in his voice. “There is one thing, though.”

“Oh?” She tried not to sound too worried.

“Ragnar wants to stay awhile.”

“Stay here? At the palace?”

“Yes. He wants to get to know us – know you, I suppose. I think he would like to see his niece or nephew born.”

“Ah. Oh Rollo, you don’t think he would try to harm the child as a way to hurt you?”

“No, Gisla, you must stop worrying so. He would never harm a child. In fact, he said that he would only stay if you agreed to it freely, for he knows that if you are troubled by his being here, it could harm the child.”

“He said that?” 

“Yes. And Gisla, if he wanted to hurt me, he would not agree to this settlement, he would demand a fight.”

Taking a deep breath, Gisla nodded. “Then of course he must stay. It will seem strange though, to have someone here whom we saw as an enemy for so long.”

“True, but after all, I was your enemy once, and now look at us. What is it the priest says? ‘The Lord works in mysterious ways.’”

Gisla allowed herself to be convinced. She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment longer, and they turned to join the celebration in the hall. 

 

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    
> Historical notes
> 
> Names used in this chapter:
> 
> Fastrada – a Frankish woman’s name, borrowed from the fourth wife of Charlemagne. The name is the feminine version of _Fastrad_ , which means “firm counsel.” Sounds like a better name for Gisla than for this woman, but it sounded good for a Frankish noblewoman. Name meanings can be found [here](https://www.behindthename.com/name/fastrad/submitted).
> 
> Adelgyda – This is a name that I combined from the name “Adelaide” and “Gyda.” Adelaide was one of the daughters of Charles the Simple. I’ve always liked the name, so I borrowed it for Gisla’s mother’s name. It is from a Germanic name, _Adelheidis_ which is built from the words _adal_ “noble” and _heid_ “kind, sort, type”. “Gyda” is the diminutive of _Guðríðr_ which is an Old Norse name derived from the elements _guð_ "god" and _fríðr_ "beautiful". So her name would mean “Noble and beautiful goddess,” which is fine with Rollo, but to Gisla it means “noble and godly beauty” or “noble, godly, and beautiful.” More information [here](http://www.behindthename.com/name/adelaid) and [here](http://www.behindthename.com/name/guth30ri10th30r).
> 
> Amount of land Rollo was given – I had him say 100 times more land, but it is probably much more – it would take 4 hours to bicycle from Rouen to the coast to the town of Fécamp, 1 hour by car, 14 hours on foot. All of Normandy is 11,547 square miles (29,906 km2), so it’s much more vast than Rollo might even know. More [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Normandy).
> 
> Baby names – Ragnar asks Gisla if they have picked out names for the baby. I don’t know what Frankish customs might be about this, but according to [this](http://dyannehs.tumblr.com/post/82616037578/babies-and-vikings) article about Viking childbirth, they seemed to pick the name after the child was born. I had already written this part and liked the conversation it led to between Ragnar and Gisla, so I have left it that way. 
> 
>  
> 
> ~~  
> 


	28. The Princess and the Bear and the Baby Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Summary: The time for the birth of Rollo and Gisla’s child grows near.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Many thanks to UnderTheSkyline for her editorial feedback, and to Windchimed for her timely and eagle-eyed proofreading. 
> 
> To my readers: Thanks as always for your patience in following this story. I know it’s been a long wait; the chapter just kept growing until I had to cut in half, and life intruded as usual. But you won’t have long to wait for the second part of this chapter; it is nearly finished and should be up within a week. And it will have lovely new art from Laure.
> 
> As always, comments are greatly welcomed!
> 
> [](http://imgur.com/4djWCc2)  
> 
> 
>    
> 

~~

It had been two weeks since Ragnar had made his decision. Much had happened. Rollo and Ragnar had been to visit the men at the camp, made their case for settlement, and managed to convince them. Deals had to be made with the earls who had supported Ragnar’s raid, but the sight of such a vast amount of land for settlement – and the treasure Rollo had set aside – did much to convince them. 

Since then, Ragnar had been staying at the palace. He and Rollo roamed the grounds of the palace and visited other villages by day, and relaxed on the balcony or in the sitting room by night, playing tafl or whittling, or just talking. Gisla often joined them, attempting to be part of their conversation as best she could, and Sinric translated what she could not.

Rollo thought of it as much like when he spent time with Ragnar and Lagertha early in their marriage. They had always welcomed him to their home, and he had always enjoyed the familial warmth there. Now he could return that welcome, and found it rewarding.

The three of them were sitting at breakfast, enjoying the warmer weather that had come. The chapel bells rang, and Rollo instinctively turned to Gisla, knowing that she would go down to the chapel for prayer service. As expected, she straightened her veil, and turned to him.

“I am going to prayer now. I will see you later, hjarta mitt.” She blushed only a little when he took her hand and pulled her toward him to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek. She gave him a shy kiss in return before turning to Ragnar and giving him a polite goodbye, and then slipping away. 

Rollo watched her leave, smiling at how she walked now that she was so heavy with child. His child.

When he turned back to his brother, he saw that Ragnar had a strange, quirky smile on his face. “What is humorous, brother?”

“Nothing. Just – she uses our words for you.”

“Ah, that. Yes, I called her that so many times that she began to use it as well.” Rollo pondered how his relationship with Gisla had grown even more tender, especially now that the child was coming so soon. 

Making a grunt of understanding, Ragnar returned to eating his breakfast. Something about his demeanor troubled Rollo.

“Ragnar, sometimes I can’t decide if you are happy for me or resentful.”

His brother looked up, a slight bit of surprise showing on his face. “Of course I am happy for you, brother.”

Rollo nodded. “But something troubles you. The way I came by my happiness?” He had thought that once Ragnar had made up his mind, he had put those feelings aside. But no one knew better than Rollo how resentment could fester. 

But Ragnar shook his head. “No, not that. Envy of it.”

“Envy? Are not your kingdom and your five sons enough to fulfill you?” But then Rollo realized that Ragnar had been staring after Gisla, and he knew what Ragnar meant. “Are things no better with Aslaug?”

Ragnar’s face grew dark. “No. And I made them worse. But how can a man forgive a woman for lying with another man? Could you?”

Rollo thought about how furious he had felt when Siggy had slept with Horik. And yet, she was not his wife, so really, she had no ties to keep her with Rollo. If it were Gisla? But that was unthinkable. He shook his head. “Probably not. But if you want things to be better, perhaps you must?”

“I suppose I should. After all, she thought he was a god. Odin, Floki said.”

“And you believe that?”

“I don’t know – I did not meet him. But he had quite an effect on her. And other women, from what Helga said.”

Rollo had not paid much attention at the time; he was in such dark grief over Siggy. “Well, if she has not left you, then perhaps you should try to mend things. She has given you the sons of your prophecy – is that not worth something?”

Ragnar nodded slowly. “Of course. Perhaps I will try.”

 

~~

 

After breakfast, Rollo and Ragnar had ridden out with some of the men to see some outlying farmland. When he returned, Rollo went to his and Gisla’s rooms and was surprised to hear a child’s voice. Curious, he went into the sitting room and found Gisla with Rosamund and two other women. Gisla noticed him and nodded, but did not interrupt her conversation with the women. Rollo nodded back, and wondered what this was about – he recognized the midwife, but not the other – nor the little boy who was busy exploring the room. 

The child couldn’t have been much more than a year old. He was quite agile for such a young age, and Rollo was intrigued. He followed the boy to the door leading to the balcony, where the child stopped and pointed outside. Of course he wanted to go out. So Rollo bent down and swooped him up into his arms. At first the boy was surprised and a bit frightened of him, but when Rollo smiled and tickled him, his little face crinkled into a grin and he laughed.

The women noticed, and the mother of the child saw that it was Rollo, and begged pardon, clearly intending to retrieve her son. Rollo held up his hand to stop her. “He is no trouble. I will take him onto the balcony so he can see the garden.”

He took the boy outside and held him up to the railing to peer over into the garden, pointing out all the trees and flowers. The child babbled happily, and Rollo smiled to think that soon he would do this with his own child. When the boy grew tired of looking at the garden, Rollo took him over to a chair and bounced him on his knee. 

The women’s conversation drifted out the open doors, and he heard Gisla saying, “I think you will do very well. Thank you.” 

The talking stopped, causing Rollo to look up. He found all the women smiling at him and the boy, who was giggling delightedly as Rollo continued to bounce him. Rollo gave him one last big bounce, then swung the boy up as he rose himself, depositing him into his mother’s arms. “He is a fine boy.”

“Thank you, my lord.” The woman curtseyed, then she and the midwife left, taking the child with them. 

Rollo turned to Gisla, grinning. “I can’t wait to bounce my own child like that.”

“You will have to wait quite a while to do that.”

“I know, don’t worry.” He smiled and patted her stomach lovingly. “So what was that all about? Yet another nursemaid for the child?”

“Not just any nursemaid, the wet nurse.”

“ _Wet nurse_ – what is that? She will bathe him?”

“No, she will feed him.”

“Feed him? At the breast?”

Gisla blushed a little. “Yes, of course. You seem surprised.”

“I am. Will you not feed the child yourself?”

Gisla gave him a funny look. “Myself? Of course not. Noblewomen always have nurses to feed their children.”

Rollo was astounded. “They do?” He shook his head. 

“Do not Viking noblewomen do that?”

“No, they nurse their own babies, Ragnar’s wife included.”

Gisla was quiet. “But it is not done here – it is expected that I would have a wet nurse. And how would I resume my duties as chatelaine here and patroness of the hospital and orphanage if I were to be tied to the child that way?”

“ _Tied_? Is that how you will feel about our child? As if it is a burden?”

Gisla gasped. “Of course not! That is not what I meant. You know I await the child as eagerly as you do.” Tears brimmed in her eyes. 

Rollo saw this and softened his tone. “I only mean that it seems that you won’t be as close to the baby as I thought. Is it not normal for a mother to tend to her own child?”

“Of course I will tend to it. I long to hold it in my arms. You know I will love this child as fiercely as I love Robert.” She always spoke in the present tense about their son. 

“I do not doubt that. But at home women always nursed their own babies unless they were ill, or something happened to them. We have waited and prayed for the safety of this child so long – surely we shouldn’t trust him or her to the hands of a stranger.”

“Hiltrude isn’t a stranger. She is a woman of the city, one that the midwife knows well, and who I have seen and spoken to in the marketplace. She is of good morals, is healthy, and has raised several strong children – you saw her youngest – you said yourself that he was a fine boy.”

“And so he is. I did not mean to speak ill of that woman or her child. But I would think we would keep some things between us. I had imagined that we would sit here together and I would whittle by the fire while you nursed the child.”

Gisla appeared thoughtful. “I didn’t know that. But I don’t think I would be in here – or with you. It is rather private to bare one’s bosom.”

“Private? Like in the privy? Surely not when you are only feeding our child. I am your husband, after all – I have seen your bosom – and suckled at it myself.” He raised his eyebrow at her seductively.

Gisla blushed deeply and spoke in a low voice. “That is different.” 

“I know. But this is important to me. And it is what is natural, is it not?”

“Yes, I suppose so. But you know, it helps Hiltrude too. She has recently been widowed and by taking her into the palace, we will make her life easier, as she serves us. Her sister will mind the older children, and her eldest niece will come to mind the boy while she nurses our child. I thought I had arranged it all so perfectly.”

He knew she was perturbed, but yet he was troubled by this. “I’m sure you have. I just always thought you would nurse our child.”

She looked at him with serious eyes. “We must not dismiss her – I have promised her. And – and we may need her if – if something happens to me. I may die in childbirth and I will die more peacefully if I know the child will be well cared for.”

“Ah, Gisla, you must not worry about that. Surely you will not die in childbirth.”

“I have faith that God will see me through, but only He knows for sure.” 

They stood staring at each other for a few moments. Rollo did not know how he could press the issue, yet he felt strongly about it.

Finally, Gisla bowed her head and murmured. “Well, I will think on this, if I may? It is very different than what I have been raised with.” She looked back up at him.

“Of course.” He paused, looking at the sweet earnestness of her face. She was always so dutiful and did wish to please him. But if it was not her custom, he did not wish her to be criticized or ridiculed either. “I will think on it, too. Come.” He reached out for her hand, and she gave it to him, and he drew her into an embrace. “I only want what is best for you – for the child – and for us as a family.”

“I know – as do I.” She returned his tightening embrace, feeling the child move between them. “Ah! Did you feel that? He seems to feel the same.”

Rollo chuckled. “Yes, he – or she – kicks very strongly. Gisla, why do you always speak as if you are sure it will be a boy? You have had no dream this time, have you?”

“No, but somehow, I think it must be a boy.”

Rollo smiled indulgently. “If you think so, then it must be. But will we really name him Charles?”

Gisla returned his smile. “We will think on that, too.”

 

~~

 

Gisla consulted Rosamund about what Rollo had asked. 

Surprisingly, Rosamund was not shocked. “It may not be common that a noblewoman would wish to nurse her own child, but you would not be the only one.”

“I would not? Who else do you know?”

Rosamund smiled. “Clothild.”

“Clothild? But she said nothing to me – and I did not see her nurse the child.”

“No, she did it very privately when we were in Paris. She did not think you would approve.”

“I would only have been surprised. But then she does not have the same duties that I do. I cannot take the child about with me to the city.”

“Nor could you very well nurse the child in all the places you might go even if you did. But you could ask others to carry on with your duties until the child is older. There are many older noblewomen who would be honored to be asked.”

Gisla pondered this. “Perhaps.” She had not thought about the possibility that she would be away from her charities for so long. It had been months already since she’d visited the hospital, as the midwife had advised against it. 

They called the midwife in, and although expressing some surprise at Gisla’s interest in nursing the baby, the woman offered practical advice as always. She saw no reason why Gisla shouldn’t feed her own child if she wished, although she thought perhaps they should keep it to themselves, as other noblewomen in Rouen might scorn her for it. That did not trouble Gisla as much as being unable to see to the hospital and orphanage personally. After hearing the midwife describe how often the newborn would need to be fed and how close Gisla must stay to it, Gisla realized that she would have to sacrifice her charities for many months. 

But she wanted to do what would make Rollo happy. For after all, his vision of them as a family was a warm and tender one. She found that she could not refuse.

That evening, she gave Rollo the good news. When his face lit up with happiness, she knew she had made the right decision. 

 

~~

 

A week or so later, Gisla was in the sitting room embroidering a gown for the baby. The door opened and Pepin poked his head around it, gave her an impish smile, then slipped back out. From the hall Gisla heard his childish voice. “Yes, my lord, she is back from the chapel.”

Gisla watched the door, and as expected, it opened and this time Rollo poked his head in and grinned at her. “Will we disturb you if we play tafl here?”

Smiling, Gisla shook her head. “Of course not. Come in.” The men had played there now and then, as but as the days got closer to when the baby would come, and she had been retiring to bed earlier, they had retreated to the great hall or in Ragnar’s sitting room so they wouldn’t disturb her. But she knew that Rollo loved to play in their sitting room where they had the view out from the balcony to the river in the distance.

Rollo came around the door, followed by Ragnar, who nodded at her with one of his inscrutable smiles, and then Pepin. Rollo came over to her chair, surveyed her handiwork, and kissed the top of her head. “It looks beautiful. I can’t wait to see it on our child.”

“Apparently he can’t wait, either.” She brushed her hand lightly over her belly.

“Very active today? Good!” He put his hand where hers had been, but the child was still for the moment. “Ah, sleeping now, eh?”

“Perhaps. He will wake up when I go to sleep, no doubt.”

Rollo laughed. “Are you sure we won’t disturb you? We can take the board back to Ragnar’s room or to the hall.”

“No, I will enjoy the company. And Pepin can come and read to me while you are playing.”

“You may like to come and play too. Ragnar likes to watch a good match, you know.”

“I know.” She dipped her head to Ragnar, who had poured himself some wine and seated himself at the table. “But I can scarcely reach the table at the moment.”

Gisla knew that Rollo and Ragnar were enjoying these matches greatly. It was strange how they had fallen into a comfortable pattern that included Ragnar now. She pondered how it could be that just a few weeks earlier he had seemed their greatest adversary, when now, despite a few lingering misgivings, they welcomed him as part of their family. 

The men played as they always did, starting out as if it were a casual thing, as if they did not care who won, then as the game progressed, they became as intense as if their lives depended on the outcome. Gisla suspected that they had substituted the game for the real life fight that they had forsaken. She said a little prayer of thanksgiving that they seemed content to battle it out with tafl pieces instead of sword and axe. Gisla had feared not only for the life of her husband, but for his soul. She wondered how he could have lived with himself if he had killed his own brother? Fortunately, they would not have to find out.

Pepin had wandered over to where the men played, watching intently as the final moves were made in their latest match. Gisla smiled as she watched from her chair. Pepin seemed as fascinated with Rollo’s brother as with the game, and Ragnar seemed fond of the boy as well. 

As she turned her attention back to her work, Gisla began to feel a tightening pain across the lower part of her belly. As it intensified, a gasp escaped her, and she dropped her sewing as she clutched at her stomach. 

“My lady!” Pepin raced to her side. 

“Gisla?” Rollo rose quickly from his seat, nearly upsetting his chair, and came over to crouch beside her. “A pain? Is it the child? Should I call the women?”

She nodded, shifted experimentally, felt the pain increase, and whispered, “Yes, I think so.”

Ragnar said something in a calm voice that Gisla could not make out. Rollo nodded at him and turned back towards Gisla, raising his eyebrows in question. She shook her head in a lack of understanding, so he translated. “He asks if the pain is low and aching under the belly and across the thighs.”

Gisla looked at Ragnar in astonishment. How could he know that? But he was right, so she nodded slowly.

Ragnar rattled off something else and Rollo translated again. “Then it is likely still a long time before you need to call the women. Those pains will come again and again for many hours. You can stay here for a while if you want to.”

“How does he know this?”

“He has had six children and was there when all were born.” 

“Ah.” Gisla nodded in thanks to Ragnar, trying not to wince with the pain. She did not wish to offend her brother-in-law by leaving, but she was disturbed by the intensity of the pain and longed to go to the bedchamber, and call her women.

Rollo must have sensed her discomfort. “Come, I’ll help you to bed.” He offered her his arm.

But as she began to take his arm, the pain seemed to ease a bit. She released a breath. “I think perhaps it has passed now. I will stay a little longer. It was just the surprise of the pain.” She smiled at Rollo to reassure him, touched by the concern in his eyes. “Besides, I wouldn’t want you to have reason to forfeit your game. Ragnar might have an advantage.” She gave a sly smile to Ragnar.

Gisla settled back in her chair, and Pepin handed her the sewing project. Rollo stayed for a moment beside her, then returned to his game with Ragnar. He glanced over at her occasionally, clearly worried. 

She returned to her embroidery and tried to concentrate on continuing the pattern, but her thoughts were distracting her. Her time was here – the child would finally be born. She wondered for the hundredth time if she would be strong enough, if she could endure the pain, if she would live to see her child – and if the child would live. Closing her eyes, she prayed silently to the Blessed Virgin to protect her child and to Saint Erasmus to help her to bear the ordeal to come.

 

~~

 

Rollo tried to concentrate on the game, but could not help glancing at Gisla from time to time to see how she was doing. She appeared to be fine, but more than once he noticed her neglecting her sewing and realized that though she tried to hide it, she was grimacing in pain. She smiled at him when he caught her eye, nodding to reassure him, but he could tell that she was nervous and uncomfortable.

When Ragnar won the match, Rollo grimaced himself; he’d missed an important move. He shook his head in disgust.

“I cannot decide which of you is more distracted, brother.” Ragnar looked at him with a wry smile.

Ragnar spoke in a low voice. “I’m sorry, Ragnar. I am worried for her.”

“Of course. Perhaps we should try your _chess_ game – you are better at it than I, so you won’t have to work so hard.”

Rollo rolled his eyes at Ragnar, but it seemed his brother was serious, so he sent Pepin to bring the chess board and pieces. 

After Pepin returned, the men turned their attention to chess and Gisla continued her sewing. But after a few minutes, she called to Pepin. “Please, bring me my prayer book.” Rollo wondered if she was trying to distract herself, or was really worried and needed to pray. Probably both.

The boy hastened to comply, and when he brought the book to her, she encouraged him to sit beside her and read it with her. Rollo listened to Pepin’s hesitant voice as he labored over the words. 

“The boy can read.” Ragnar sounded impressed. 

“Yes, and much better than I do.”

“You can read as well?”

“A little. Some words are easier than others. But they are not even in Frankish. They are in Latin.”

Ragnar quirked the corner of his mouth and raised his eyebrows to show that he was impressed. “Athelstan told me of this. He showed me a few words, but I did not have time to learn to read them.”

They had played a few moves when Gisla spoke quietly. “I think I would be more comfortable in bed. Will you excuse me?” She had set aside her sewing, and gripping her prayer book tightly in her hand, she began to rise. Rollo bounded across the room to help her.

Ragnar bowed his head, acknowledging her exit. “I wish you an easy labor.”

“Thank you, mágr.” Gisla smiled graciously at her brother-in-law, and taking Rollo’s arm, they went to the bedchamber.

 

~~

 

Calling for Rosamund, Gisla felt the now-familiar pains again, and sank onto the settee by the window. Rollo sat beside her, rubbing her back and holding her hand.

Rosamund hurried in and glanced at Gisla. “You are having pains? For how long?”

“About an hour maybe.”

“And you didn’t call me?”

“Ragnar said I had a long time until the birth.”

“Ragnar?” Rosamund’s voice rang with incredulity.

“Yes, he has had six children.”

“ _He_ has? Hmph, well. We should send for the midwife.”

“I already did.” Rollo’s voice was reassuring at Gisla’s side.

“Well, then, let these pains pass, and then come and we will get you into more comfortable things.” Rosamund turned and called for the other ladies.

Gisla sighed and breathed through the pains. Then she allowed herself to be led away to the other room to be changed into a plain chemise and dressing gown. 

When she came back into the bedchamber, Rollo was sitting on the bed, waiting. She sat down beside him, wondering what was to come. She heard Rosamund in the other room, directing the ladies as to what to do.

Rollo took Gisla’s hand. “Are you all right? No more pains yet?”

“No. I’m just nervous.”

“Are you very much afraid?”

“No, not really. Well, I am not afraid to die. I would hate to leave you, but at least I would be with little Robert.”

“It is too soon for that. You won’t die, I won’t let you.” His voice was fierce.

She took his arm to reassure him. “I don’t think I will. I am strong – I will bear our child as God ordains.”

The midwife came bustling in. She took one look at Rollo and harrumphed. “What is a man doing here?”

Rollo gave her a stern look. “I am her husband.”

“I know that, my lord, but the birthing room is no place for a man.”

Gisla laid her hand on Rollo’s arm. “I will be all right – you can go back to Ragnar.”

“But I want to be by your side. It is a husband’s responsibility to help his wife birth their children.”

“Is it?” She was surprised they hadn’t talked about this before. She had just assumed that he would wait outside as men usually did in Frankia. “But here that is not the custom. And I think…I think I would prefer it if you were not here to see me this way.”

“What? But I want to help you.”

“I know, and I love that you want to be by my side. But really, I would rather just have the women. I think I can bear the pain better with them.”

“I wish I could bear it for you.”

“I know. I do not fear the pain, only that I will not bear it gracefully.”

“Why should you bear it gracefully? You can bear it any way you like. I did not stand the pain of being trampled by horses gracefully – I bellowed like a steer! Why shouldn’t you?”

She smiled at his expression. “But I would be more comfortable with just the women hearing me bellow. Please.”

Rollo stared into her eyes, then nodded. “Very well. But I will be just next door if you need me. Promise me that you will call if you do.”

“I will. Don’t worry, my love. I will be fine.”

He kissed her, whispering in her ear as he did. “I will be with you despite not being in the room.” Then smiling reassuringly, he turned and left the room.

“Well, now, we can get down to business.” The midwife turned to the serving women and ordered the further readying of the room. 

Gisla sighed. It was going to be a long night. She found her prayer book and read again the prayer for mothers in childbirth.

 

~~

 

Rollo went back to the sitting room, where he found Ragnar playing chess with Pepin.

Ragnar looked up from the chess board. “You are not staying with her? Or is it too soon? I told you it would be some time.”

“She doesn’t want me there to see her in pain.”

“She spares your feelings? She thinks you will be in pain too if you hear?” Ragnar seemed to be teasing, but there were some men who felt as much pain as their wives. 

“No. She does not want me to think her weak. As if I could.” He had tried to tell her that, but her eyes were so pleading that he realized that she would suffer more if she could not cry out as she felt was needed. So he had left her to the women.

Ragnar made one of his quirky looks and Rollo knew that once again, his wife had impressed him. “But it is your right – your duty – does she not know that?”

“Yes, but that is not their custom. Here they only have the women. And she is a Frankish princess – she is entitled to do things by their customs. And if she thinks she can bear the pain better without me watching, then how can I insist on staying?”

Ragnar looked skeptical, but dipped his head in acknowledgment, and turned back to the chessboard. Rollo watched as Ragnar and Pepin each made careful moves, and Rollo was surprised to realize that Ragnar was holding back so the boy could win. He had not known Ragnar to do that with his own boys. 

After that, they sat for some time taking turns with chess and tafl, telling jokes to Pepin, and asking Pepin to read to them from the big books that Gisla had in the room. Ragnar, like him, was fascinated with the written word. Rollo told him of his hope to one day put their language in writing. He hoped that he and Gisla could do this.

A little later they began hearing moans coming from the birthing room. Pepin looked up at Rollo with big eyes. 

Ragnar made a move on the tafl board. “Now comes the hard part. It will only grow worse.”

Rollo glanced at his brother, then back to Pepin. He could see the worry on the boy’s face which echoed his own. If only he could be there with Gisla to reassure her.

Pepin suddenly burst out, “I am afraid for the princess. My mother made cries like that when my brother was born and then she died.”

Rollo gripped the chair arm, trying to steel his own worries. “So did mine. So did the princess’. But that does not mean she will die.”

Ragnar shifted in his chair. “I have had two wives who have birthed six children between them. And both still live.” He gave Rollo a wry look as if to say that both wives continued to torment him. 

Rollo gave Ragnar a nod to silently thank him for this reassurance. Then he turned back to the boy. “We must pray for the princess’ safe delivery of the child.”

Pepin looked at him with solemn eyes. “May I go now and pray?”

Rollo was surprised, but nodded. “Yes, go to the chapel. The priest is there – he will pray with you.” Not taking any chances, he’d also asked some of the Norse women to make prayers and sacrifices to Frigg for Gisla’s safe delivery. 

The boy nodded, made a slight bow to each of them, and left. Ragnar smiled at Rollo and lifted an eyebrow. “You don’t wish to go with him to pray?”

Rollo shook his head slightly. “I am praying, here and here.” He tapped his temple and his heart. 

Ragnar nodded.

 

~~

 

“Go easy, Gisla, save your energy for later.” Rosamund patted Gisla’s arm and stroked her hair soothingly.

Gisla had groaned particularly loudly that time, for the last pain had been much stronger than the previous one. She had known that this would be hard, but still wondered how she would bear the pain to come. 

“Don’t forget to breathe through the pain, my lady.” The midwife’s advice was sound – it had helped immensely helpful so far, but Gisla kept forgetting to breathe. She tended to tense up and hold her breath when the pain came. “Now, go on, breathe – steady, strong breaths.”

Gisla obeyed, and found it continued to ease the pain somewhat. But the pains were coming stronger and more often now. 

The midwife examined her again. “Soon, I think, very soon.” She rubbed more ointment on Gisla’s belly to speed the birth. It had been a long night and Gisla was exhausted. 

As the pain eased again, Gisla asked Rosamund to read from the prayer book, and she took comfort from hearing the familiar prayers, particularly one that invoked Saint Margaret’s blessing. The scent of the herbs strewn among the rushes on the floor was pleasant, and she was grateful that the midwife had taken all the measures to ease her mind and body in this process. Even now the midwife was directing the serving women to untie all the knots in any fabrics or cords in the room, and to open all the drawers and cupboards to ease the birth. Now Herleva was loosening Gisla’s hair for the same reason. Gisla had not told them that she did not quite believe these folk remedies, but she had to admit that she did feel freer with her hair loose than in the heavy braid.

Thinking of her hair and whether it was braided or loose made her think yet again of Rollo. All night she had wondered whether he and Ragnar still played tafl in the next room, or whether Rollo paced the floor worriedly, or if perhaps he was getting some sleep. But she didn’t wish to send the women to ask for fear that he would then worry that she needed him. And when the pains came, she was glad that only the women saw her as she struggled to endure them.

Between pains, the women had urged Gisla to try to sleep a little, to get as much rest as possible for when the actual birthing came. Gisla tried to obey, but her mind would race despite her body lying at rest. She was comforted by Rosamund’s reading, and Herleva and Ermengarde’s tending to her – rubbing her back, or legs when the pains were at their worst. 

Much of her worry came from repeatedly thinking of her own mother, who had successfully delivered her, yet did not survive the birth of her brother. When she’d spoken of this, the midwife had clucked disapprovingly, reminding her that she had delivered hundreds of babies successfully and that their mothers had been happily tending those children all this time, so Gisla would likely be no different. The baby was in the right position, so it was just a matter of time before it would come. 

In the meantime, Gisla continued to pray, finding that the soothing repetition of those words she’d heard all her life gave her the most comfort. She lay back, resting for the time being, and did her best to trust in the words of the women, and in God, that she would come through safely.

 

~~

Notes

Brace yourself: I’ve been working on the background for these two chapters for many months and have collected a lot of information that I thought you might find interesting. Some of it is historical and some is modern, and a bit is personal. I hope you find it informative.

Breastfeeding in the Middle Ages  
In my story Gisla had not intended to nurse her own child. I found no specific information about the custom in Frankia for that time, but there are multiple sources for each scenario; some discuss women nursing their own babies and others discussed noblewomen having wet nurses, so I think it’s safe to assume that this varied according to culture and the time period.

One source mentioned that the church taught that a woman should nurse her own child since Mary had nursed Jesus (no mention of how the church knew that), so when and where that view was heavily taught, women likely followed that rule. But another source indicated that noblewomen – especially royal women – were less likely to nurse because it was their job to keep producing heirs, and lactation tended to be a natural birth control method for a couple of years, so they did not nurse. 

Also, noble and royal women had formal official duties that might be hindered by breastfeeding, so hiring wet nurses was a common solution. Nurses were often treated with great affection and became part of the family, staying with the child as he or she grew up (think of Juliet’s nurse in _Romeo and Juliet_ ). They were often given generous pensions in their old age.

One famous woman, albeit of a much later period, insisted on nursing her own child: Anne Boleyn. Perhaps that accounts for Elizabeth I’s longevity? 

Sources and interesting articles:  
[“When Breast Wasn’t Best” ](http://authorherstorianparent.blogspot.com/2012/11/when-breast-wasnt-best-breastfeeding-in.html).  
["Medieval Child: Surviving Infancy"](https://www.thoughtco.com/medieval-child-surviving-infancy-1789124%0A) has a section on wet nurses.  
[ "Births" – A very interesting article ](http://rosaliegilbert.com/births.html).  
[ Royal Parenting Trends in History ](http://www.royalhistorian.com/5-modern-royal-parenting-trends-that-are-actually-centuries-old/).  
[ Public Perception of Royal Parenting](http://www.royalhistorian.com/diana-princess-of-wales-and-the-monarchy-part-4-the-public-perception-of-royal-parenting/).

~~

Chess  
In my search for chess art, I ran across an article that discusses chess’s larger significance in medieval society. The game was a “significant illustration of medieval society, a symbol that represented social status, moral values, religious meaning, and even cosmic significance.” Its origins are thought to have come from China and it made its way to Europe by way of India, Persia, and the Arabs, who brought it to Europe when the Moors came to Spain. During Charlemagne’s conquests of Iberia, the game made its way to Frankia where the aristocratic classes played it. More [here](http://www.medievalists.net/2013/01/symbolism-in-medieval-chess/).

~~

Saints that Gisla prayed to during childbirth:

The Holy Mother (the Virgin Mary) – the obvious one she’d pray to. Mary, of course, had a trying end to her pregnancy having to travel to Bethlehem (I can’t imagine riding a donkey while nine months pregnant, but I guess it would be better than walking) and then finding that Joseph had not thought to make AirBnB reservations in advance! 

St. Erasmus – also known as St. Elmo, Erasmus of Formia became known as the patron saint of labor and abdominal pain because his martyrdom under the Emperor Diocletian in 303 AD included the torture of pulling out his intestines! The drawings of that poor man’s fate were too horrible to include in my picset, but if you are interested in gory stuff, see these links.  
Links: [Erasmus of Formia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Erasmus_of_Formia) and [ Fascinating Bizarre Saints: Erasmus](https://biblebrisket.com/artwork-fascinatingbizarre-saints/#jp-carousel-3137%22). 

St. Margaret – Medieval women might also have prayed to St. Margaret of Antioch. Persecuted for being a Christian, also under Diocletian, she had an encounter with the devil in the form of a dragon while imprisoned for her faith. He swallowed her, but she caused him to disengorge her with the point of her cross inside him. There are a lot of depictions of her in medieval illuminations; most show her coming out of the dragon’s back, so I guess that’s something like a birth. The first link, from a website called “Fascinating Bizarre Saints” has a wonderful collection of these pictures. I used my favorite. 

[ Fascinating Bizarre Saints](https://biblebrisket.com/2014/07/15/fascinatingbizaare-saints-throughout-history-2/).  
[ Fascinating Bizarre Saints: Margaret](https://biblebrisket.com/artwork-fascinatingbizarre-saints/#marg).  
[Catholic.org: Saints](http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=199).  
[Margaret the Virgin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_the_Virgin).

All of these saints are also mentioned here: [ Patron Saints of Pregnancy and Childbirth.](http://thekoalamom.com/2013/02/patron-saints-of-pregnancy-and-childbirth/)

Gisla might also have prayed to Saint Elizabeth of the Visitation. Elizabeth was the cousin of the Virgin Mary, and Mary visited her to tell her the good news about being pregnant with Jesus. Elizabeth was pregnant with John the Baptist, and it’s said that the baby leapt in her womb in recognition of Jesus in his mother’s womb. [Saint Elizabeth](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_\(biblical_figure\)).

Women might also have prayed to St. Juliana, another woman who was martyred during the persecution in Diocletian’s rule. I don’t find a reference in this account as to why she might be prayed to specifically by pregnant women. It’s interesting that she and St. Margaret have such similar stories – both were women who refused to marry someone who insisted that she give up her faith. I suppose that just the fact that they were very devout women despite tortuous circumstances gave them a particular aura of holiness.[ Juliana of Nicomedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juliana_of_Nicomedia).

Saints that later medieval women in childbirth might have prayed to were:  
Gotthard of Hildesheim (960-1038) – miracles were attributed to his relics. [ Gotthard of Hildesheim](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gotthard_of_Hildesheim)  
Hemma of Gurk (980-1045) – saint of childbirth and eye diseases. [ Hemma of Gurk](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hemma_of_Gurk).

And for those of you who are following the show, [“Call the Midwife,”](https://www.netflix.com/title/70245163) and may have wondered about the name “Nonnatus House” (the place where the midwives and nuns live), it takes its name from St. Raymond Nonnatus (1204-1240) who was born C-section after his mother had died; hence, “nonnatus” meaning “not born.” [And if you have not watched this show, I highly recommend it. It’s so well written– the writers are very meticulous about historical setting and the stories are both true to life and varied enough that every episode is a treat. Keep your hankies handy, though, it’s often a tear-jerker – but always in a very good way and not just because there are sometimes sad stories. This is how historical shows should be done!] [Raymond Nonnatus.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raymond_Nonnatus)

I tend to think that the variety of stories of those saints who became associated with childbirth reflects the dangerous nature of childbirth to women’s health and life. Women were probably so desperate to have a safe deliveries that they prayed to anyone remotely associated with childbirth or abdominal pain in case that could help. Then those saints became associated with childbirth more formally. Please note that I am no theologian, nor am I even Catholic; this is just my own conclusion as someone who has studied and analyzed culture for many years.

~~

Gisla embroidering a baby gown – from medieval drawings and histories, it seems that most babies were dressed in swaddling. It was believed that it was healthier to keep them bound and straight for the early months of their lives. When they were older, it kept them from wandering off and endangering themselves. But I wanted Gisla to be sewing things for her baby, so I am supposing that she is working on something for when the baby is older. More [here](http://rosaliegilbert.com/births.html) (also a very good read – it includes things from the childbirth section of these notes).

~~

mágr = Brother-in-law. Source: [Old Norse Dictionary.](http://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm)

~~

Midwifery, Childbirth customs, and folk remedies for childbirth pain and suffering – I ran across a number of interesting customs related to childbirth in the Middle Ages, although none of them were specific to Frankia. First, as to whether the husband should be in the room, I ran across a discussion of Viking rituals regarding childbirth which says emphatically that the “father would absolutely be there in the room when the child was born.” The article does not say why this was so, nor did it give references. Since this was used in the show when Bjorn attended little Siggy’s birth, I thought I’d bring it up for the story. But I could not corroborate this from other sources. [Babies and Vikings.](http://dyannehs.tumblr.com/post/82616037578/babies-and-vikings)

As for Medieval European views of men’s role in the birth, according to one source, “no men were allowed, not the father, not even a doctor. Medieval folk considered childbirth a part of life not related to medicine [which only men practiced at the time]. Considering that medieval medicine was based on the ancient philosophy of humors, it might have been for the best.” The article has more of the history of the profession of midwifery, little about actual procedures, but this is interesting, especially the end:

Midwives learned their craft from other women and from having their own children. William Minkowski writes that "without formal training, and because texts on midwifery were ancient and rare, midwives learned their skills as a craft from family or friends." From the time they were small girls, women who would later become midwives would have been present at the births of other siblings and would have been able to see what was done during the birthing process by the midwife or other female family members. Myriam Greilsammer writes that the midwife in Medieval art was "often portrayed in the act of setting out the instruments of her profession, the symbols of her qualifications – scissors, linens, a tray which she places in a box or wraps in a large basket, a birthing stool." Men were not allowed to view this birthing process. Greilsammer notes Belgian historian Louis Théo Maes' record of a fifteenth-century fine: "One Henne Vanden Damme, for having hid behind a staircase to eavesdrop upon his wife, she being in labour of childbirth, which thing doth not befit a man, for the said eavesdropping was fined 15 livres."

From: [History of Midwifery](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Midwifery#History_of_midwifery). The references cited were:  
Minkowski, William L. (1992). "Women Healers of the Middle Ages: Selected Aspects of Their History." _American Journal of Public Health_.  
Greilsammer, Myriam (1991). "The Midwife, the Priest, and the Physician: The Subjugation of Midwives in the Low Countries at the End of the Middle Ages." _The Journal of Medieval and Renaissance Studies._ Links are on the Wikipedia page.

More on Midwifery [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Midwifery_in_the_Middle_Ages)

And this source says even more about the folk remedies (such as there being special birthing rooms, the spreading of herbs and rushes on the floor, and the usage of ointments and the untying of things to ease the birth) used by midwives in the medieval period. Again, I think many of those customs represent a desperate desire to find something – anything – that could possibly give relief for the pain and allow the woman to deliver her child safely. It’s a very good read. [ Medicine: Medieval Childbirth](http://unusualhistoricals.blogspot.com/2012/11/medicine-medieval-childbirth.html).

This is another interesting article (and it has a few more modern customs – did you know that expectant mothers with a low iron count were once advised to drink Guiness? Or that some women were told not to give up smoking because it would help them relax during pregnancy?) [Evolution of Childbirth Revealed.](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3002834/Medieval-fire-rituals-Tudor-birthing-chairs-smoking-relax-drinking-Guinness-increase-mums-iron-evolution-childbirth-revealed.html)

~~

Modern childbirth information consulted – I wanted to try to be as accurate regarding natural childbirth as possible, since my own experience was in a hospital with medication, monitors, and the supervision of modern medical professionals. These sources were very informative and helpful:

This was a great stage-by-stage discussion of what will happen during labor and the actual birth. [What to Expect.](http://www.whattoexpect.com/pregnancy/labor-and-delivery/childbirth-stages/pushing-and-delivery.aspx)

I had initially intended that Gisla might scream loudly during childbirth, but again, since I never experienced much pain in childbirth, I never needed to scream myself. Movies and books usually depict women screaming in agony, but as I’d also seen a few modern shows that depicted women being quite calm and merely breathing heavily or grunting and groaning, I looked it up to be sure. I found a very informative blog and an article that noted that TV shows and movies often depict this in an unnecessarily extreme way just for dramatic effect. 

The blog has posts by many women who had natural childbirth who did not find it necessary to scream in childbirth. They say they did plenty of moaning, groaning, and grunting, and sometimes lots of swearing, and one said she repeated the rosary over and over and found that that helped, but most of them did not scream. Childbirth experts (midwives and doulas) say that screaming is actually counter productive as it is more of a reaction to pain and causes the tightening of muscles, whereas to grunt and groan _through_ pain is what is needed. Screaming prevents the controlled breathing that helps a woman to endure the contractions and to do the pushing needed to birth the child. So I had the midwife be very experienced and encourage Gisla to do the same. Gisla, of course, is sensible enough to listen to those who are wiser than her, so she is benefitting from this advice. [Can a Woman Not Scream During Childbirth?](https://www.quora.com/Can-a-woman-not-scream-during-childbirth) and [What it’s Like to Have a Natural Birth.](http://www.self.com/story/12-women-share-what-its-like-to-have-a-natural-birth)

Of course, if there were complications, such as it being a breach birth, it could be a different story. Childbirth was a true hazard for women in the Middle Ages (and even through fairly recent times in some countries). Two statistics were cited in some of the sources I found: 1 in 10 women died in childbirth and 1 in 3 women died during their childbearing years. There were not references as to how those statistics were gathered, but it doesn’t seem too surprising given how many things could go wrong – even in recent times. My own great-grandmother died a few days after giving birth to my great uncle in 1917; she died of an infection. And in my own case, I had a drop in blood pressure during my labor, so I do have to wonder whether had this been 100 years earlier, might I have died of blood loss or something? Fortunately it was a minor thing for modern medicine to resolve and I safely delivered my son a few hours later.

Gisla’s birthing experience will continue in Ch. 29 which will be posted very soon (hopefully within a week!). Thanks for reading!

~~


	29. The Princess and the Bear and the Baby Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Summary: Rollo and Gisla’s baby is on its way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  My very warm thanks to Swimmingfox for her always-insightful story editing and for continuing to inspire me to complete this tome, to UnderTheSkyline for her story feedback and continuity help (she sometimes remembers my story better than I do!), and to Windchimed for her eagle-eyed surface edits and for going above and beyond the call of duty in giving story feedback despite this not being one of her fandoms. 
> 
> And merci beaucoup to Lauredessine for her wonderful art, which you will see about halfway through the story.
> 
> And to my readers – thanks once again for all of your patience; this was to be posted a week or so ago, but life interfered – it’s the end of the semester. And of course I had to go and get a cold this weekend, so that slowed me down as well. I hope you enjoy this, the final chapter.  
> 

~~

 

Note: This chapter picks up just where the last one ends: Gisla is in labor and Rollo is waiting, rather impatiently, in the sitting room outside the birthing room.

 

~~

 

Gisla paced listlessly across the birthing room. The pains had continued to grow stronger, but still the baby had not come. The midwife had encouraged Gisla to walk around when she could – it would hurry the baby along, she said. 

But to Gisla it seemed as if nothing would hurry this child. 

When the pains came again suddenly, Gisla grabbed on to the bed frame, grasping it desperately, and trying to breathe as the women advised. But a wail escaped her as the pain intensified. The women helped her back to the bed and she endured the pain as bravely as she could. 

It felt as if the night would never end.

 

~~

 

Rollo stirred restlessly. Pepin had come back from the chapel and been sent to bed. Ragnar sat by the fire whittling, although Rollo had told him that he didn’t need to sit up with him.

Gisla’s moans came more often now and Rollo wished that she’d send for him, but as she did not, he just waited, albeit impatiently. He thought of peeking in, just to ask, but knew that the women would send him away, and that it might trouble Gisla. He would do nothing to increase Gisla’s worry, so he simply paced.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. “I will go mad with this waiting. Let’s go outside.” 

He and Ragnar walked around the gardens, and Rollo tried to calm himself by breathing in the fragrant smells of the plants around him. Fortunately, there was a full moon, so they could see quite well as they picked their way through the grounds. But Rollo was reminded of how much Gisla loved walking with him here. How would he bear it if she were taken from him? He shook his head to try to clear away the doubts and fears.

They wandered into the barnyard nearby, and the sleepy stable boy lit a couple of lanterns for them. The cows, pigs, and sheep ignored them, but as they walked past the milking pens, the goats stirred and bleated at them. Ragnar lingered, but Rollo wandered on to the horse stalls. He came to the stall where Gisla’s little black mare was stabled. The animal must have sensed his mood, for she stamped nervously. He spoke gently to quiet her, and wondered if he’d ever ride with Gisla again. When he turned to rejoin Ragnar, Rollo’s mouth twitched into a smile as he found his brother cradling a baby goat in his arms. 

After that, they meandered around the princess’ flower garden. Rollo spied the flowers that were Gisla’s favorites. A pang of fear struck him – what if they were only on her grave after tonight? 

Rollo turned, trying to shake off his foreboding. “Come, let’s go into the grove.” He led Ragnar back through the garden, past little Robert’s tree. Rollo tried not to think about Gisla joining their son in heaven. As they entered the forest, Rollo finally breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow being among the trees lifted his spirits.

As they walked through the tall trees, Ragnar looked up at the moon. “This reminds me of the night we caught the hart. Do you remember?”

“Of course. How could I forget your first hart?” A wave of nostalgia washed over him as Rollo recalled the crisp fall air and Ragnar’s boyish excitement. 

“You taught me everything. To hunt, to fish, to fight. We were such friends then. Where did we go wrong? Did you resent me because I became as good as you at those things? Better, at some things?” He flashed Rollo a sly smile.

Rollo gave him a mock grimace back. Then he shook his head seriously. “No.”

“Then what?”

Rollo thought carefully. He did not want to reopen old wounds. But Ragnar was staring at him intently, and he knew that his brother would not let it go. He sighed. “You always acted like you were better than everyone else.”

“I tried to be as good as everyone else – as good as you. You were always better at everything than I was.”

“I was older; of course I'd be better than you for awhile. But you always wanted to be better than everyone at everything.”

“I had ambition. What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” He recalled the arrogance that Ragnar always seemed to have as he grew into manhood. As if he had been born the son of an earl – and Rollo was merely his thegn, assigned to teach him, and later take orders from him. “All I wanted was for you to see me as your equal.” 

“And for that you betrayed me?”

“For that I wished to be my own man. Even if it meant going against you. Or so I thought. It seems I could not, not really.” 

“And nor could I. Did you never wonder why I didn't kill you? I could not forget that you had taught me much of what I became. I only wanted you to have as much ambition as I did.” 

“Well, now I do.”

Ragnar stared at him with an unreadable expression, and for a moment, Rollo thought that perhaps he had angered his brother. But then Ragnar dipped his head as if in acceptance, and turned and walked slowly on.

They walked a little further, into a small clearing. Ragnar suddenly turned to him. “Are you sure it wasn’t Lagertha?”

“Lagertha? What are you talking about?” 

“Come, brother, do you really think I could not see that you cared for her?”

Rollo did not answer.

“Why then did you not fight for her?”

“Fight you? Over Lagertha?” Rollo shook his head.

“Why should you not?”

“Because. It was you. You loved her.”

“You gave her up for me?” Ragnar seemed genuinely surprised.

Rollo released a breath. “Partly. But mostly because she clearly wanted _you_ , not me. If it had not been so, I would have asked you to step aside. But as it was, she was meant to be with you.”

Ragnar stood staring at Rollo with a strange look on his face. “And you never loved another woman enough to marry her?”

“Not until now. And I now could lose Gisla too.”

“You won’t lose her, brother.”

Rollo looked at Ragnar sharply. “What makes you so sure?”

“Your prophesy. The Seer was so certain. It is your time now.” Ragnar looked at Rollo with resignation in his eyes. “My time is waning.”

“Why do you say that, brother? You are still a king, with a kingdom that waits for you in Kattegat.”

“I suppose. With a queen who hates me, a former-wife more fit to rule than I, and a son who wanders after a lost wife and should be at my side.”

“Much of that can be mended. Bjorn will surely find Thorunn and bring her back. You will soon have them all by your side.”

“Who is comforting whom now?” 

Rollo chuckled.

“Come, brother, let us go down to the riverbank. I’d like to see the moonlight on the river. We can pray to Frigg together in the glow of Mani’s light.”

“You would pray for my wife?”

“Of course.” Ragnar blinked at him in the glow of the lantern. “You seem unable to believe that I wish you – and her – well.”

“I’m sorry, brother. I suppose I still cannot quite believe that we are friends again.”

“You can believe it, Rollo. Come let me put this goat back. It will be missing its mother.”

“Unless it thinks you are its mother now.” 

Ragnar chuckled as he turned back towards the barnyard.

 

~~

 

The sun was just starting to rise as Gisla’s pains increased in number. She only had a brief time to rest between them, and they were much more intense. Each new series of pains came more suddenly and she felt less ready for them. The midwife calmed her each time and assured her that this meant the baby was coming very soon. 

Gisla shifted uncomfortably on the bed. She just wanted this all to be over. 

She was relieved when the midwife examined her again and announced that the baby’s head was showing and that it would soon be time to start pushing. The women helped Gisla to sit in the birthing chair placed near the bed, and soon they were all around her, rubbing her back, pushing on her stomach, and speaking words of encouragement to her.

Gisla felt strangely that it was only her body that did the work of pushing – that her mind and soul were suspended at the time. She could hear herself groaning at the pain and the pressure, and heard the coaxing words of the women urging her along, but she felt removed from it somehow. She could not have told how much time had passed when finally the midwife called for one more big push and then she and the other women all gave happy sighs and cries.

Gisla sat back in the chair, the women smoothing her hair and chemise, telling her to rest now. But Gisla had not yet heard the cry of her child. She struggled to sit up straight and looked to where the other women were tending the baby. “Is it all right? Why does it not cry?”

The midwife’s voice was reassuring. “It is fine. Not all babies need to cry. Now just be prepared for the afterbirth. It will come soon.”

But Gisla still worried. What if something was wrong? Why did they not show her the child?

Just as she was about to ask again, a whimper and then a squall came from the center of the little circle of women and they all murmured soothing words, and she knew that her baby was alive. She breathed a sigh of relief and gave a heartfelt prayer of thanks to the Holy Mother.

“Ah, Gisla, you have a daughter.” Rosamund’s voice was filled with joy. 

Ermengarde called over to her from where she was hovering by the other women. “Oh, my lady, she is beautiful.”

“I want to see her. Why do they not bring her to me?”

“We were just cleaning her up a bit.” The midwife came back over to her, Rosamund close on her heels, carrying a small bundle.

“Here she is, my dear.” Rosamund put the child, still squalling loudly, into her arms. 

Gisla’s heart was full as she carefully gathered her child close to her. So tiny, so precious. She had lots of brown hair and though her face was a little puffy, Gisla could see that she had Rollo’s eyes. She cradled her daughter tightly to her and rocked her gently, and the baby quieted, snuggling against her. Her child, alive and well in her arms. She thanked God for this tremendous gift.

She sat that way for a few minutes, until the midwife interrupted. “The afterbirth will be coming soon. Let the women bathe the child properly.” Gisla reluctantly gave the child back to Rosamund and looked longingly after her. The midwife sat down on her stool in front of Gisla. “Get ready to push again.”

Some time later, Gisla sat comfortably in bed, the baby back in her arms. She could not take her eyes off the baby’s face. Rollo had been sent for, as it seemed he’d left the palace early in the morning. She was exhausted, but wanted to see Rollo’s face when he saw his child for the first time. 

 

~~

 

It was in the early hours of the morning when at last a servant came from the house to find Rollo. He and Ragnar had returned to the garden and were half asleep on a bench when the man arrived.

“My lord, you are wanted upstairs.”

Rollo was instantly awake. He took the stairs two at a time, racing to the room. Nervous, he listened outside the door, trying to hear if there was weeping. But it was quiet aside from the murmuring of women’s voices. 

Entering silently, not wanting to disturb the peace that pervaded the place, he saw that as before, a screen was blocking the bed. As he came closer to the screen, Rosamund came out, carrying linens. He looked hopefully at her, and she smiled broadly at him and made a nod towards the bed. 

He came around the screen and saw Gisla, sitting up, looking tired, but beaming. In her arms was a wriggling baby, whom she was trying to cover with a blanket. Rollo felt tears coming to his eyes as he realized that this was his child – their child – who was alive and well. He made a silent prayer of thanks to Frigg for seeing Gisla through the birth and delivering this tiny being to them.

“Come and meet your daughter.” Gisla was gazing intently at his face, as if gauging his reaction.

Another burst of joy flowed through him, and in two steps he was at her side. “Our little Gyda. Ah, Gisla, how beautiful she is.” He sat beside her on the bed, and together they gazed down adoringly at their daughter. He looked back and forth from the child to Gisla, amazed that they both were here, healthy and happy, beside him.

After a time, Gisla nudged him. “Do you want to hold her?”

“Yes, of course.” He took the precious bundle and cradled it in his arms, settling back against the pillows next to Gisla. He peered into his daughter’s tiny face, and gently touched her cheek. Her eyes opened a little and she stared blinkingly into his eyes. Rollo felt an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment wash over him as he stared back. He leaned over and kissed Gisla gently. “Thank you for our daughter.”

She just smiled at him and laid her head on his shoulder.

They sat there for a long while, simply enjoying the child and the peace. Then he glanced down to see that Gisla had fallen asleep. He kissed her once again and whispered for Rosamund, who came to help him with the baby while he gently guided Gisla down to the pillow. He stared lovingly at her for a few moments, then turned back to Rosamund.

Knowing that Ragnar would be waiting and wondering, he sent a servant to find him, then took the baby into the sitting room and sat with her, engulfed in his big chair, facing the windows in the early morning light. He felt that this new day brought the beginning of more than just his daughter’s new life.

When Ragnar came in, Rollo turned and nodded to him to come and join him. Ragnar’s eyes registered concern at Rollo’s silence, then warmed as they dropped to the bundle in Rollo’s arms. “All is well?”

Rollo nodded and grinned, not able to stifle the joy that was flowing through him. “Yes. Gisla is well. As is little Gyda.”

“Gyda.” Ragnar’s eyes lit up, and a smile spread across his face. “You really named her this?”

“Yes. Well, we will when she is christened in a few weeks.”

“She is beautiful, Rollo. My congratulations.” Ragnar’s blue eyes reflected a genuine affection.

“Thank you, brother.”

Ragnar stood staring down at the baby for a few moments. “I think she looks like you.”

Rollo nodded. “Perhaps. I was thinking that she looks like our mother.”

“Does she? That is good to know.” Ragnar pulled the other chair closer to Rollo’s and sat down, never taking his eyes off the child. 

 

~~

 

[](http://imgur.com/h00Hs8v)

[](http://imgur.com/PA06OH6)

[](http://imgur.com/frQkW31)

 

~~

 

Gisla awakened in the afternoon light. She was groggy, as if she’d had too much wine. What time was it? What was happening? She tried to remember. Why did she ache all over? Looking down her body, she saw that her stomach was no longer a huge mound, and remembered. “The baby?”

Rosamund’s voice came from nearby. “She is fine. She is with Lord Rollo.” She rose and came to Gisla’s side, pointing to the outer room.

Gisla rose slowly and Rosamund helped her up. She used the privy, and Rosamund helped her put on a dressing gown and slippers.

Going into the sitting room, she saw both Rollo and Ragnar, but no baby. “Rollo?”

“Ah, good morning.” Rollo rose briskly and came over to her, guiding her gently to her chair. Now she saw that Ragnar sat in Rollo’s chair and held their daughter. “Are you hungry? We have sent for food.”

Gisla shook her head slowly, staring at the child, longing for her. But it would be rude to ask for her.

But at that moment, Ragnar rose from the chair, cradling the baby as if he had been a nursemaid all of his life. “Rollo, I think she is only hungry for her child.” He brought the baby over to her and laid it in her arms. “She is beautiful, princess.”

Gisla’s heart swelled to have her little one back in her arms. “Thank you, mágr.” She glanced up at her brother-in-law.

Ragnar dipped his head, gave her a look that bordered on fondness and envy, and returned to the chair. Rollo sat on the arm of her chair, looking down on her and the child.

They sat like that for a little while, just enjoying being together. The child nestled against her, moving its face around her bosom. She cuddled it more closely in response.

“I think she is hungry for you. She wants to feed.” Ragnar’s voice came from across the room.

Blushing, Gisla realized that this was the “rooting” behavior that the midwife had told her the baby would do when it wanted to nurse. “Oh, yes. You will excuse me, please?” She started to rise, but found it hard with the baby in her arms and feeling a little weak still. Rollo moved to help her up.

Ragnar said, “I will go and leave you both alone.”

“It is not necessary. I want the women’s help anyway.” Gisla nodded to him, then smiled at Rollo, who had continued to tease her for her shyness, and went into the bedchamber.

There she had her first lesson in nursing. She was surprised to learn that the baby needed help latching on to her breast – she had thought it all just happened naturally. In her case, the child rooted away, but did not seem to latch on as Gisla had seen other babies doing with the village women. And it hurt! It never occurred to her that it might hurt. The midwife helped and seemed to get the child to suckle properly but it still hurt badly. And she couldn’t even tell if there was any milk.

But she took a deep breath, raised a prayer to Saint Giles and the Holy Mother, and endured. She would do this for the child’s sake, and for Rollo’s.

 

~~

 

Over the next week, well-wishers from around the palace came to congratulate Rollo and Gisla, and admire the baby. Ermengarde showed the baby off to Halvar, and Gisla could tell that her friend wanted one of her own. Pepin was a constant shadow, declaring himself Gyda’s official guard and swearing his loyalty to her. Gisla’s heart was warmed to think that one day her daughter would have such a loyal man in her guard, much as she did with the men who had served her since she was a child.

When Sinric came to pay his respects, Gisla wondered whether being around her child would heal or hurt him. But when he’d seen little Gyda, she saw in his eyes a tenderness where before there had only been pain. She was glad when he seemed inclined to linger, and when she offered for him to hold the baby, he eagerly took Gyda up, cradling her with a practiced arm and murmuring what seemed to be nonsense words in Norse.

And all during that week Gisla continued to nurse the child herself. Or at least she tried. But despite the help that the midwife and the other women offered, the baby just never seemed to latch on properly – she would cry plaintively, causing the midwife to tut-tut and suggest that the wet nurse be brought in. This made Gisla all the more determined to try to feed her herself. 

At times it seemed the child nursed properly, but most of the time she would stop and fuss as if she were not getting enough milk. And Gisla would try some more. But ultimately the midwife declared that Gisla did not have enough milk, so they brought Hiltrude in to supplement her. Gisla watched enviously as the woman got Gyda to latch on and nurse greedily at length. 

Despite not having intended to nurse the child in the first place, Gisla now felt like a failure. She wondered if there was something wrong with her, if she wasn’t a true woman. She prayed about it – asking God why it was that she had decided to do what her husband wished, as a good wife should, but that He had not granted her the ability to do so.

Rosamund tried to assure her that she was all that a good woman should be, that it was no fault of her own that she could not nurse the child. “Maybe God has other plans for you and does not mean for you to do so.” But Gisla could not help feeling that she was lacking. She prayed each day for understanding – and for milk.

 

~~

 

Rollo had been with Ragnar, and returned to his own sitting room to get his whittling work. As he entered, he ran into Gisla. She stumbled, and he reached out to steady her. “I’m sorry, my love.” 

She had her veil on, which he hadn’t seen much lately since she had mostly kept to their rooms since the child was born. And there was something else. Her eyes. She’d been crying and was trying to stifle her tears now. “What’s wrong? Gisla?”

She sniffed loudly, clearly trying not to break down. “I am going to prayer.” 

“Yes, but what is wrong? Is it Gyda?”

“No. Not _now_.”

“What happened?”

Gisla paused, seeming reluctant to say. Then she blurted, “She was hungry. And I couldn’t feed her – I’m sorry!” She started to turn to leave, but he caught her arm.

“Wait, what do you mean?”

“I don’t have enough milk. She feeds and feeds until I bleed, but gets nothing. I am useless!” She whirled and left, leaving him standing there stunned.

He pondered whether he should go after her, recalling that she found peace in prayer and that maybe he would only disturb her, and had just determined to go when Rosamund came out of the bedchamber. 

She gave Rollo a sour look. “She has forgotten her prayer book.”

“Ah, let me take it to her.”

“No, she is too upset. I want to be with her to calm her.” She started to leave, but Rollo blocked her way. Her face grew angry, the first that Rollo had ever seen Rosamund that way. “Why did you do this? She was so happy with the child and then this. She is miserable – she feels like a bad mother.”

“I didn’t know – why didn’t she tell me?”

Rosamund made a huffing sound. “You know – she was too proud, and too ashamed. You must tell her to stop. She won’t listen to us, though she does allow the wet nurse to feed the child since she cannot. Now I must go to her.” She bustled past him.

“I will. I didn’t know.” Rollo stood there staring after her, stunned. How could he not know? He had spent much time with her – but Ragnar had often been there too, so perhaps he had not paid enough attention. He had noticed that Gisla had been quiet, but he had supposed that she was just tired from her new motherly duties.

Troubled, Rollo wandered from the room and down the hall to where Ragnar waited.

“Brother? Did you forget something?” Ragnar raised his own whittling piece to show him.

“No, I, uh…. Yes.” Rollo wandered to the window and peered out, as if the answer to his troubles was in the courtyard below.

“Something troubles you.” Ragnar continued whittling his own piece. “But perhaps it is private.”

Rollo nodded and continued to stare. Then, impulsively, he blurted, “Did Aslaug ever have trouble feeding the boys?”

“What? No, not that I recall. In fact, it was the opposite. She usually could not stop feeding them – long after they did not need it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Your princess…she is having trouble?”

Rollo sighed. “Yes. And it’s all my fault.”

“How can that be your fault?”

He explained the situation. “If it had not been for me, she would never have bothered, and would be happy with the child, not miserable as she is now.”

“And the child? She seemed healthy when I saw her this morning.”

“Yes, there is a wet nurse.”

“Well, then it seems things have worked themselves out as they should have been in the first place.”

“Except that Gisla is upset.”

“Women are often upset. It will pass.”

Rollo was silent. He flopped down in a chair.

Ragnar went back to whittling. “Perhaps you can tell her that you see now that it is not the will of the gods that she feed her children – that if the custom is so, it was not for you to change it.”

“Perhaps.”

Later, when Rollo returned to their quarters, the bedchamber door was ajar and he heard a woman’s soft voice singing. He peeked in and saw that Gisla was sitting by the window with the child in her arms. The way the light was flickering on both their faces, he thought it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He stood for a moment, taking in this lovely moment. And realized that this was exactly what he’d been imagining – just her, his wife, and their child, content together in their house. Why had he not realized this before?

He waited until she finished the sweet song she sang, then stepped into the room. “That was lovely.”

Gisla glanced up, her blissful smile bestowed momentarily on him. But then a shadow crossed her face and he knew that she remembered what she’d told him earlier. He quickly crossed the space between them and knelt before her.

“ _Hjarta mitt_ , I am sorry. I didn’t know how you suffered. If I had known this would happen, I would never have asked this of you. But I see now that it was wrong. That it was not meant for you to feed her – it is enough that you hold her and sing to her and love her as you do right now. Can you forgive me? I did not mean to rob you of your joy.”

Tears sprang into her eyes, and glancing down at the sleeping baby, her face lit up again. She turned her glowing face to him, tears streaming now, and whispered, “Yes, of course. But you did not take away my joy – I could never lose that. She is here and she is mine – ours. But now I wish I could feed her myself. I never wished to before – I had never thought of it. But now that I cannot, it seems a loss. But I know the difference between true loss and this. She is safe with us, and for that I thank God. I cannot give her milk, but God has shown me that I can nourish her in every other way, and I will.” 

She smiled tremulously at him, and nodding, he leaned in to kiss her gently. Rising, he moved to join her on the settee, and putting his arm around her, they sat together marveling at the beauty of their child.

 

~~ 

 

It was a bright, clear day for the christening. Gisla stood in the cathedral with Rollo beside her. Light streamed through the stained glass windows onto little Gyda, who lay contentedly in Gisla’s arms. The archbishop was reading the baptismal liturgy, and Gisla felt peace and contentment. Surely, she thought, God was smiling down on them all today. 

Beside them were Roland and Clothild, who had come to serve as godparents. There had been a joyous reunion when her dear friends had arrived, and Gisla had exclaimed over how much their little boy had grown. For her part, Clothild spent nearly every waking moment cooing over baby Gyda. Ermengarde was already matchmaking the two children, and Gisla could not blame her, for the little boy seemed fascinated with the baby. 

All her loved ones were present as witnesses to the ceremony, aside from her father, who did not wish to leave his wife, who was with child herself. Gisla found that she did not mind, for he had sent good wishes in a warm letter, and a lovely christening gift of one of his precious books full of illuminations. She imagined sitting with Gyda one day, poring over the pages and helping her to learn the scriptures and stories of the saints from the book.

The archbishop came to the naming part of the ceremony, intoning the words solemnly. “What name do you give this child?”

Rollo and Gisla said in unison, “Adelgyda,” and the archbishop proceeded with the ceremony. Gisla glanced down the nave, and saw that Ragnar was smiling where he stood among the witnesses. He had wished to be there, despite his pagan beliefs. Gisla could not deny him that, considering that Rollo himself was not quite as devout as she might have hoped. In fact, Ragnar, Halvar and a few others of Rollo’s important men had also been witnesses to the Norse naming ceremony that Rollo had held nine days after the birth. Gisla had watched with mixed feelings as Rollo took little Gyda on his knee, claimed her as his own, sprinkled water and made the sign of the hammer over her to invoke Thor’s protection, and then called her by her name. But Rollo had been completely supportive of their child being baptized into the church, and Gisla knew that he wanted her to have the comfort of knowing that whatever happened, she would one day be with their children in Heaven. She would pray, as she always did, that Rollo would be with them as well.

The service continued on with Gisla and Rollo vowing to raise their child in the faith, and Roland and Clothild promising to help them in their duty as Christian parents. After many prayers and invocations, the archbishop began the baptism itself. Saying the holy words, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” he poured water over little Gyda’s forehead after each name in the Holy Trinity. The baby wriggled after the first dousing, then began to cry after the second, and finally squalled loudly after the third. Gisla rejoiced that the devil had been chased from her daughter’s soul – she was safe from the evils of hell.

Later, after feasting in the great hall, and visiting for hours with their friends, Rollo and Gisla rested in the sitting room. Gyda was asleep in the other room, and Gisla welcomed the quiet respite of their favorite spot. 

A knock came at the door, and the guard announced Ragnar. While Gisla preferred to be alone with Rollo and Gyda that evening, she smiled a welcome to her brother-in-law. Although she had struggled with trusting him – and would probably never trust him completely – she had come to believe that for now he was sincere in his good wishes to Rollo, herself, and especially the baby. 

“I will only stay a few moments, but I wanted to give you this before the day was over.” Ragnar came forward with a small package in his outstretched hand. He offered it to Gisla directly. “A gift, for my niece.”

Glancing at Rollo, who translated his brother’s words, she accepted the item, which turned out to be a small drawstring bag made of silk. Opening it, she found a silver cross on a chain inside. As she pulled it out, she could see that it was of a fine filigree design, and she found herself wondering where he had gotten it. Had some poor Christian soul been robbed of his precious symbol of salvation during a raid? 

She looked up at Ragnar, trying not to show her dismay at the thought. “It is beautiful. Thank you.”

But Ragnar seemed to have heard her thoughts. “You must not think that it was stolen. It belonged to my dear friend, Athelstan, who was a priest in your faith.”

Gisla breathed a sigh of relief. “I know of Athelstan – Rollo has told me about him.” 

“Then you know that he was a devout Christian, though he left the faith for a time. But he told me that he had had a vision during prayer – a great light washed over him – and that the Holy Spirit had come to him and restored his faith. That he had been ‘reborn.’ I did not understand it – I do not really understand it now – but I could see that he was sincere and that it gave him great joy. Shortly after that, he was killed for his faith by one of my men who did not like that I was friends with a Christian. So Athelstan was a martyr to his faith – your faith – was he not? His cross, which he always wore, is perhaps a holy relic?”

As Rollo finished translating, Gisla was astonished at Ragnar’s knowledge of the ways of the church. She nodded uncertainly. “Perhaps. I will ask the archbishop about this. Athelstan must have treasured it greatly, especially being so far from home. But how do you come to have it? I would have thought he would be buried with it.” 

“I had to part with my friend. But I kept his cross as a reminder of him.”

Gisla was surprised and touched that Ragnar would give up such a treasured memento of his friend. “How can you give up something so precious?”

Ragnar smiled and tapped his temple with his index finger. “I have my memories. And I am not a Christian, so this relic will do me no good. Athelstan protected my children while my wife and I were away, and helped to save my family when we were attacked. Perhaps his cross will protect your child from danger.”

Gisla looked into his eyes and found that as before, he seemed sincere. She gently squeezed the cross between her fingers and smiled at him. “Then I thank you sincerely. I will tell Gyda the story of Athelstan when she is old enough. And until she is big enough to wear the cross herself, it will hang above her cradle.”

“That pleases me very much.” Ragnar dipped his head to Gisla, nodded to Rollo, and left them. 

Gisla stared after him in wonder. Once again she thought of how mysteriously the Lord worked – bringing the piety of a martyred priest into her presence through the acts of a pagan.

Rollo spoke quietly as he sat down next to Gisla. “I did not think he would part with that. I think I finally believe that he and I are brothers and friends again.”

“I am glad.” And with that reassurance, she leaned against Rollo, feeling again that peace which had come to her during the day.

 

~~

 

Ragnar left soon after the baptism. He and Rollo had made plans for groups of settlers to come the following spring. His ships were prepared and the men who wished to return to Kattegat were all aboard.

The night before, Rollo and Ragnar had sat once again at the riverfront, watching the waxing moon set. 

Standing at the river’s edge, Rollo embraced his brother warmly. “I wish you well, Ragnar. And I hope Bjorn is successful in his quest so little Siggy can come back to Kattegat. Please give my greetings and love to him and the other boys. May Aegir see you safely home.”

“I will. And may Frigg continue to bless your marriage.” Ragnar glanced over at Gisla, who had stayed back from them as they said their goodbyes. “Goodbye, sister-in-law. Take good care of my niece.” He flashed her one of his quirky smiles.

“Of course. Goodbye, mágr.” Gisla smiled graciously and dipped her head toward Ragnar.

Ragnar climbed aboard his ship, and called his orders to the men to begin rowing. As the boat started moving, he turned and raised his hand in farewell to them.

Rollo stood and watched as Ragnar’s ship glided down the river. In the distance he could see the rest of the fleet falling into formation as they made their way out to the sea. Rollo wondered if he’d ever see his brother again.

Gisla took his arm and squeezed it. “Is it hard to see them row away?” He looked down at her and saw sympathy in her eyes. And yet he knew that she must worry that he wished to sail with them.

“A little. But I have my own ships and we have our own kingdom here.”

She nodded. “And Ragnar? Are you sorry to see him go?”

“I suppose I am. It has been a long time since we were so close as brothers.”

“I am glad that you part as friends. And it is good to know that we are no longer in danger of attack.”

Rollo put his arm around her and held her tight. He knew that there would always be danger of someone attacking. But he did not trouble her with that thought. And in truth, he did not think it would be Ragnar leading such a force. So he just nodded, happy that for now they were safe together.

As the last of the ships slipped out of view, Rollo squeezed Gisla again. “Come, my love, let us go home. Our daughter is waiting for us.”

As they walked toward the palace, Rollo looked around at the outbuildings, stables, gardens, and the house itself. And for the first time he realized that they were _his_. His and Gisla’s. There was no more weight hanging over them – they could get on with their lives. He was truly home.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/QCDGCV4)

~~

 

Afterword

I know many of you were expecting that the baby would be a boy, and would grow up to be William Longsword. I’m sorry if I disappointed you, but the main goal of my story was to build a warm relationship between Rollo and Gisla, and for them to become a family. And since in history Gisla (Gisela) wasn’t actually the mother of William (that was Poppa, a Frankish noblewoman that the real Rollo had abducted and made his wife by hand-fast, and William would have been born long before this story could take place, about 893), I didn’t think it was crucial to have him be born at this time (913). It was more important to my story that Rollo and Gisla would have a daughter whom they would name Gyda, and that Rollo, being the Feminist!Rollo that I’ve made him, would be as delighted to have a daughter as a son. 

And don’t despair, there will be a short epilogue coming soon. :) 

~~

Historical and cultural notes

Thegn – the term ðegn (thegn) was used for the veteran warriors or members of a boat crew  
[Thegn](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thegn).

Frigg – goddess of marriage, motherhood, love, fertility, and destiny.

Máni – The Norse god or personification of the moon; he and his sister Sól, the goddess or personification of the sun, are the children of Mundilfäri, whose name possibly means, “"the one moving according to particular times.”

Birthing chair – The birthing chair, designed to give women the advantage of gravity during the last stages of labor, seems to have been used throughout history as long as there were midwives attending births. A midwife would bring the birthing chair with her as part of the tools of the trade. It seems to have disappeared from use in modern times when male doctors attended births and preferred to have the women lying in bed, likely because they refused to crouch on the floor to receive the baby.  
[Birthing Chair](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Birthing_chair).

I am repeating this link to an article about practices and beliefs surrounding childbirth, some of them humorous, since it has information about birthing chairs. It also includes this note on something I left out of the story: “Seventeenth century women often expressed a complex relationship with the pain of labour. On the one hand, childbirth had the potential to be redemptive. It was part of Eve’s penance.” I could imagine Rollo and Gisla having a conversation where Rollo expresses how unfair it was that women had to suffer such pain at childbirth, and Gisla explains the belief that it is because of Eve’s sin that women must suffer.  
[Tudor Birthing Chairs](http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-3002834/Medieval-fire-rituals-Tudor-birthing-chairs-smoking-relax-drinking-Guinness-increase-mums-iron-evolution-childbirth-revealed.html).

~~

Numbness or feeling of being suspended during birth – I don’t know how often women having natural childbirth feel this way, or if this was an effect of the epidural that I had when having my own son, but I felt this way during the last part of labor. In fact, I felt this way for the last few hours of labor. I was able to sleep in 15-minute increments during most of it – the blood pressure cuff kept waking me, or I might have slept longer. Or maybe I did – I was at least “out of it” enough that it seemed like all of a sudden the nurses were around me and the lights were on, and they were breaking away the end of the bed so I could sit up and push, but I didn’t remember the last hours. And I recall them telling me to push, and saying that I needed to “push with your bottom, not your face,” but I couldn’t feel my lower half because of the epidural. I don’t really remember the actual birth, because the next thing I recall, my son was over on a table being cared for and I was just staring at him thinking to myself, “That’s my baby. I have a baby.” I don’t even remember if they brought him to me to see, or when my husband cut the cord. I was sort of in a fog. I didn’t really become fully aware of things until much later; when I was in the recovery room and they brought me my son in a little rolling bassinet. And they didn’t seem to have me try to nurse him for a while; they asked if they could give him water from a bottle and I was fine with that – so perhaps I shot myself in the foot by allowing him to use a bottle. They did tell me that sometimes a baby that has had a bottle first has trouble latching on to the breast later.

Babies crying at birth – “Actually, not all babies cry with their first breath after being born. But all babies will cry within a few seconds if they are not immediately reunited with their mother. This is a simple adaptation that makes it less likely that they will get overlooked. In fact, there is some evidence that baby cries have specifically evolved to be as annoying and hard to ignore as possible. Beyond the first few minutes of life and their first feed, neonatal infants may cry because they are bruised and sore from the trauma of birth, but generally the process is so exhausting for them that they will sleep for the next eight hours or so. Make the most of it because that's the longest uninterrupted stretch of quiet you'll get for the next six months.”  
[Why do newborn babies cry?](http://www.sciencefocus.com/qa/why-do-newborn-babies-cry).

~~

The child looking like Rollo, and Rollo and Ragnar’s mother – somewhere I read that babies often look more like their fathers than their mothers upon birth. Is this some evolutionary development so the fathers would acknowledge their own children? Or perhaps simply recognize them? (The article below says that only one study showed that to be true; other studies found differently).

In any case, this was certainly true in my own son’s case. I was worried that he could get switched at birth – there was some movie about that on TV during my pregnancy (a bit of advice to future expectant mothers: just don’t watch any dramas or news shows about problems in pregnancy. You may be much more emotional and worry about everything way more than you need to, so it’s better to just stay away from that stuff until the baby is born). So I told my mom she had to be there right when he was born and to mark his foot with a sharpie. But I needn’t have worried – he was the spitting image of my mother-in-law, whom my husband takes after.

[Babies: Paternal Resemblance](https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/babies-paternal-resemblance/).

~~

Delivery of the afterbirth – the delivery of the placenta usually comes at about ten minutes to one hour after the baby.  
[Birth: Third Stage Labour](https://www.nct.org.uk/birth/third-stage-labour).

~~

Pain after childbirth – I’ve been basing much of Gisla’s birthing experience on my own experience, and amazingly, I felt little pain or discomfort after the birth of my son. But I had modern medicine and had almost no pain during the birth, so I’m thinking that this also spared me some of the physical trauma that can happen when one is in pain during a struggle. But some women do have a lot of pain afterwards; one of my friends reported being very uncomfortable right after the birth when they were stitching her – apparently her epidural wore off sooner than mine. Or maybe I’m just really susceptible to pain meds. My sister-in-law had to have a C-section (her son was 10 lbs!), so she was in a lot of pain afterwards from the surgery. She tried to nurse her son, but it was so painful to hold him, that she gave up on it very quickly. In any case, since many women do have some pain and discomfort after the birth, and since I had Gisla’s labor be fairly long, I supposed she might feel more pain than I did. 

This article discussed 9 kinds of pain women can have after childbirth.  
[Postpartum Body Aches](http://www.parents.com/pregnancy/my-body/postpartum/post-baby-body-aches-pains/).

~~

If a mother couldn’t nurse her child – As to what could be done if a mother couldn’t nurse her child and a wet nurse couldn’t be found or afforded, they did find ways to feed babies with makeshift devices like rolled up fabric used to drip milk into babies’ mouths. But this was less safe than finding a wet nurse because of the danger of bacteria (not that they would understand the need for sterilization for centuries) and the baby wouldn’t be receiving the immunity protection of a mother’s milk.  
[When Breast Wasn’t Best](http://authorherstorianparent.blogspot.com/2012/11/when-breast-wasnt-best-breastfeeding-in.html).

Modern day – clearly we have resolved the issue if a mother can’t, or doesn’t wish to nurse her child. But apparently we haven’t really solved the problem of what to do if the mother wants to nurse her child but is not producing milk. This article (“When Lactation Doesn’t Work”) discusses the lack of good studies on the medical solutions to this – the author points out that when you search the database of federally funded medical research on “lactation failure” there are only 9 studies listed, compared with 84 for erectile dysfunction. Apparently men’s ability to beget children outweighs women’s ability to nurse them when it comes to winning funding.  
[When Lactation Doesn’t Work](https://www.google.com/amp/s/bfmed.wordpress.com/2010/04/24/when-lactation-doesnt-work/amp/).

Article added (from Oct 18, 2017): [Motherhood Is Hard to Get Wrong. So Why Do So Many Moms Feel So Bad About Themselves?](http://time.com/4989068/motherhood-is-hard-to-get-wrong/). This is an excellent article about the pressure expectant mothers feel to do things a certain way when giving birth and feeding their babies. The moral of this story is: do what is best for you and your child, not what society expects.

~~

St. Giles – a 7th century abbot who became a recluse whose only companion was a deer. Hunters tried to shoot the deer, but wounded the abbot instead, hence he became the patron saint of the disabled and eventually other things relating to illness or disability, such as trouble breastfeeding, or sterility.  
[Saint Giles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Giles).

~~

Gisla’s lullaby – I went looking to see if I could find some record of a Frankish song Gisla might sing to her baby, and since I didn’t readily find one (Swimmingfox might have had better luck), I just kept it vague. But I did find this fascinating article about Icelandic lullabies – it seems that they have (and had in the past) a penchant for singing lullabies with scary lyrics. If you click the link, be sure to scroll down to read the comments – it seems that the Russians have some scary ones too!  
[Scary Icelandic Lullabies](https://blogs.transparent.com/icelandic/2015/09/03/sleep-you-pig-scary-icelandic-lullabies/).

This reminded me of the rumors I had heard that some of the nursery rhymes that we sing in America (handed down by our English forebears) had some gory history. For example, it’s said that “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary” is about “Bloody Mary,” the daughter of Henry VIII who seemed to have inherited her father’s penchant for executing people, although in her case she was having Protestants burned at the stake for refusing to practice the Catholic faith. Or that “Ring Around the Rosy,” which we used to sing while dancing in a circle, holding hands, and all falling down at the same time when singing, “We all fall down!” was about the Black Plague. But apparently those are only theories, as some scholars think that those songs haven’t been around as long as that.  
[Mary, Mary](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mary,_Mary,_Quite_Contrary).  
[Rosie](http://www.snopes.com/language/literary/rosie.asp).

“London Bridge is Falling Down,” is a song we also sang and danced (or played) to, where two children created the bridge by raising our hands together and the rest of the children passed under the bridge, until the line “My fair lady!” caused the “bridge” to come down around the child under it at that moment. I felt certain that this song had some horrific origin, and when I looked into it I found that among other theories about the meaning of the lyrics is one about a Viking attack! So once again, my research seems to come full circle to Viking-related stories.  
[London Bridge is Falling Down: Viking Attack Theory](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Bridge_Is_Falling_Down#Viking_attack_theory).

~~

Christening beliefs and ceremony – there is a wealth of information about christening ceremonies, but when I tried to find the exact wording of the ceremony as I’d done long ago for the betrothal, I found it only in Latin. So I borrowed from more modern versions for the few words that I included. The custom itself comes from what is called “The Great Commission” from Matthew 28:16-20 in the Bible, in which Christians are told to go and convert others to Christianity. The lines went: "I baptise you (or, 'The servant of God (name) is baptised') in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit"  
[Great Commission](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Commission).

I did find some very interesting tidbits about baptism and baptisteries (also “baptistries”) along the way, though. For example, I was looking for information about where the baptismal font was likely to be in the church, and ran across this interesting discussion. I learned that the holy water that is found near the doorway of many Catholic churches (the container is called a “stoup”) likely originated in the custom of early Christians washing their hands before entering the church. Over time the practical aspect of washing disappeared and only the symbolic meaning was left.  
[Liturgy](http://www.ewtn.com/library/liturgy/zlitur311.htm).

That article discusses the location of some baptismal fonts being at the altar of the church, and the writers there debate whether baptismal water, if located at the back of the church, could be considered holy water. 

I couldn’t find out where exactly the baptismal font might have been in Rouen Cathedral, but I did find a nice diagram of the current church that shows where Rollo and his son, William Longsword are buried (as well as Richard Lionheart and Joan of Arc):  
[Rouen Cathedral Floor Plan](https://frenchmoments.eu/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/Rouen-Cathedral-Floor-Plan-copyright-French-Moments.jpg).

Also, I found that in many parishes, baptisms were originally held in a smaller church next to the larger cathedral (called “the bishop’s church”), usually dedicated to John the Baptist. But during the 8th century, the cathedrals were expanded and incorporated the baptistery into the larger church.  
[Baptism](http://cdalebrittain.blogspot.com/2015/06/baptism.html).

This discussed when infant baptism began; it seems that it was fairly common from the 3rd century onward.  
[Infant Baptism: Ceremony](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infant_baptism#Ceremony).

And as for the pouring of water onto the infant’s head, this is called “affusion” and it was not as common until the 10th century, but was used earlier, and has precedent in scripture. It was likely used because it was not practical to immerse a baby entirely in water. [History of Baptism: Middle Ages](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_baptism#Middle_Ages).  
[Affusion](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Affusion).  
[History of Affusion](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Affusion#History_of_affusion).

The baby crying during baptism – I had always heard that during a baby’s baptism it was desirable for the baby to cry when the water is poured over his or her forehead because that was a sign that Satan had been driven out of the child. Then I ran across an article that explains how the ritual of baptism contains a minor exorcism since everyone is born with original sin. So if you’ve been baptized in the Roman Catholic Church, you have received an exorcism.  
[Did you know the baptismal rite includes an exorcism?](https://churchpop.com/2016/10/10/did-you-know-the-baptismal-rite-includes-an-exorcism/).

And this has good explanations of all the ceremonies and the role of the godparents.  
[The Catholic Sacrament of Baptism](http://www.dummies.com/religion/christianity/catholicism/the-catholic-sacrament-of-baptism/).

~~

Norse naming tradition – it seems that besides probably being present for the birth, the father had to officially accept the child into the family. The custom was as I described above, but also part of the custom was the mother nursing the baby for the first time. I learned this part after posting Ch. 28, or I would have included it in Rollo’s reasons for wanting Gisla to nurse their daughter.  
[Daily Living](http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/daily_living/text/Demographics.htm).

Naming of Gyda – It was custom for the Norse to name children after honored relatives since they believed that children would partake of the virtues of the ones whose names they bore.  
[Old Norse Names](http://www.vikinganswerlady.com/ONNames.shtml).

~~

Relics – In religion, a relic usually consists of the physical remains of a saint or the personal effects of the saint or venerated person preserved for purposes of veneration as a tangible memorial. [Relic](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Relic#Christianity).

~~

Cradles – the history of royal cradles and cribs was another interesting thing to research. This article had some detailed information – it mentions that while the first depictions of babies in cradles isn’t until the 13th century, they surely must have been in use prior to this. There were writings saying that babies shouldn’t be sleeping with their parents because they could be smothered: “the danger of 'overlaying' and suffocation.”  
[Cradles in the Early Middle Ages](https://books.google.com/books?id=nATxh0xRVGwC&pg=PA38&lpg=PA38&dq=cradles+early+middle+ages&source=bl&ots=qMD7YvgK-G&sig=KoRN0S4taJiXd40wtK6DE56Cr7I&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwil97z3lLDTAhWijFQKHdalBrsQ6AEIOjAE#v=onepage&q=cradles%20early%20middle%20ages&f=false).

Other links with the history of cradles, and the second one has many art pieces depicting babies in cradles, including Henry III and Prince Edmund depicted as babies in cradles (1250-1259), place in the margins of illuminated texts:  
[Royal Cradles Through History](https://mrsdaffodildigresses.wordpress.com/2013/07/24/royal-cradles-through-history/).  
[Medieval and Renaissance Cradles](http://www.larsdatter.com/cradles.htm).  


And this article mentions a prince’s “cradle rockers” – people who rocked him:  
[Children’s Lives in the Middle Ages](http://stores.renstore.com/history-and-biography/childrens-lives-in-the-middle-ages-and-the-renaissance#.WPcoGulWxSU).

And this article which discussed women and nursing, went on to discuss how such nurses “frequently stayed on once the infant was weaned to care for him through his early childhood years. This presents the picture of a medieval "yuppie syndrome," where parents lose touch with their offspring in favor of banquets, tourneys and court intrigue, and someone else raises their child. This may indeed have been the case in some families, but parents could and did take an active interest in the welfare and daily activities of their children. They were also known to take great care in choosing the nurse, and treated her well for the ultimate benefit of the child.”  
[Surviving Infancy in the Middle Ages](https://www.thoughtco.com/medieval-child-surviving-infancy-1789124).

~~

Aegir – Norse god of the sea. I don’t know if they invoked Aegir to keep them safe when they sailed, but it seemed logical that they might.

~~

Waning and waxing – Perhaps you noticed that Rollo and Ragnar spent time watching the moon. The moon phases seemed to symbolize Rollo’s and Ragnar’s “waxing” and “waning” fates, as mentioned by Ragnar during their discussion. So when Ragnar is about to leave, they have been watching a “waxing” (increasing) moon, symbolizing Rollo’s rising career. Ragnar feels that his career is waning, or lessening.  
I got my information from my son who is currently in his second semester of college astronomy and is therefore our resident expert. He recited his moonrise/moonset chart for me:

New Moon – rises 6 am; sets 6 pm – this is why you usually can’t see it  
Waxing Crescent – rises 9 am; sets 9 pm – when the moon looks like a sliver  
First Quarter – rises 12 pm; sets 12 am – a waxing moon, a half moon, but you don’t call it that  
Waxing Gibbous – rises 3 pm; sets 3 am  
Full Moon – rises 6 pm; sets 6am  
Waning Gibbous – rises 9 pm; sets 9 am  
3rd Quarter – rises 12 am; sets 12 pm  
Waning Crescent – rises 3 am; sets 3 pm  
New Moon

A cycle is 29.5 days, which is why “Once in a blue moon” you will have two full moons in one calendar month. The second full moon of the month is the blue moon. 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/mkdpPHh)

~~


	30. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  A few months – and a few years – later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  A final thank you to everyone involved in helping me with this story: Swimmingfox, who inspired me with her exceptional writing, encouraged me to write my own story, and offered countless wonderful ideas to improve this fic; Windchimed, who copy-edited this work so readily and superbly; UndertheSkyline, one of my readers, who became a wonderfully supportive beta-reader along the way; Lauredessine, who inspired me with her art, and to my delight has shared her remarkable talent in illustrating these many chapters, including the final piece here; and DaizyDoe, who surprised me with the art which is at the beginning of Chapter 25, and kindly created the companion piece to it for this chapter. 
> 
> And as always, thanks to my readers, to whom this epilogue is dedicated.  
> 

~~

 

Gisla was reading her letters in the late morning sunshine. She loved this time of day. The baby was sleeping peacefully in her cradle nearby, and Rollo was whittling in his chair. He had taken to returning to the palace to be with her and Gyda for a few hours each day after his morning training with the men.

She picked up a letter from the foreign minister, expecting to read about the latest political intrigue of her father’s kingdom, and a name caught her eye. She read a bit more and gasped.

“What is it? Your father?” Rollo’s voice was filled with concern as he set aside his work and came over to her.

She looked up at him sadly. “No. Your brother.”

“Ragnar is in your letter?”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. It is from the foreign minister – he has news of Wessex.”

Understanding dawned on Rollo’s face. “Ragnar has attacked there. I was not certain that he even would. Will you read it to me?”

“Yes.” She moved over on the settee to make room for him. “‘The minister in Wessex reports that two Viking ships landed in Northumbria–’”

“Northumbria? Why would they land there?”

“It doesn’t say.”

“Sorry, continue.”

“‘They were met with force and many of the heathens were killed. The rest were taken captive, including their leader, Ragnar Lothbrok.’”

“Why would he go there with only two ships?”

“I don’t know.”

“Go on. They hold him now? For ransom?”

Gisla shook her head slowly and read on. “‘The heathens were given the chance to convert to Christianity and become slaves. None did. All were executed by hanging except for Ragnar, who, it is said, was placed in a pit of vipers and left until dead.’”

“Vipers?”

“Poisonous snakes.”

“What sort of execution is that?” Rollo looked bewildered. 

She shook her head with uncertainty. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

“So my brother is dead.” Rollo’s tone seemed to be one of confusion, not grief. 

“Yes, so it seems. I am sorry.” Despite her lingering misgivings about Ragnar, she’d developed a sisterly affection for him, as he seemed to genuinely love Gyda. Now her daughter would never know her uncle. And Rollo had lost the brother he’d finally reconciled with. Gisla started to put her hand on Rollo’s shoulder to comfort him, but he suddenly rose and began pacing. 

“I can’t understand why he would attack Northumbria. Well, he hated Aelle, but it was not Aelle who massacred our settlement – that was Ecbert. Does it say anything about him?” Rollo turned and waited expectantly.

Gisla ran her finger down the lines of text in the letter until she spotted Ecbert’s name. “Yes. He has increased his defenses in case there is another attack.”

“They must have gotten separated from the rest of the fleet. But why not wait for them? Or go looking for them?”

Gisla had no answers. 

“I’m sorry. I keep interrupting.” He came back and leaned over her. “What else does it say?”

Gisla continued reading. “‘King Ecbert asks Emperor Charles if there is any advice he can give on defending from this attack, since he knows that Paris has had to defend twice against these heathens. I refer his question to you, Lord Rollo, as you know this best.’”

Rollo was silent. 

Laying her hand on Rollo’s arm, Gisla spoke firmly. “You don’t have to answer. It is not your problem to help them defend Wessex. Ecbert should not have destroyed a settlement that he agreed to support.”

“You would have them left to the mercies of my nephew?” Rollo seemed surprised.

“Your nephew?”

“Björn won’t stand for this. He was there with us when Ecbert made the agreement. We fought to help Ecbert attain more of his kingdom – fought and lost men.” Rollo straightened and paced again. “Good men, like Torstein. And for what? So Ecbert could slaughter our people? He deserves whatever he gets.” Rollo’s voice had gotten gradually more fierce as he spoke. There was a chilling look in his eyes when he turned back towards her.

Gisla felt a cold fear in her heart. “Rollo? What will you do? You won’t go with them?”

Rollo stood for a moment, staring out the window into the distance. Then his eyes dropped to their daughter, who was now awake and wriggling in the cradle, her big green eyes looking at her father. Rollo’s face relaxed. He smiled at the baby, then turned to face Gisla. “No, this is Björn’s fight, not mine.”

Suppressing a sob of relief, Gisla pressed her hands to her heart and thanked God silently. She smiled tremulously at Rollo and reached her hand out to him. “You frightened me for a moment. I could not bear to lose you.”

“I will only fight to defend this land and the life we have made.” He took both of Gisla’s hands and pulled her gently to her feet. “Of course we will mourn him.” He nodded as if imagining it, and Gisla could tell that he was holding back his emotions. “I must tell the men, and we will drink funeral ale and toast him and tell the stories of his exploits. Some of them may wish to return to Kattegat and go with Björn.” He drew Gisla into his arms and held her tight. “But my place is here with you and little Gyda.”

Gisla wrapped her arms around him and together they gazed down at their daughter. She knew that whatever the future might bring, they would face it together.

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/mlgRWR0)

~~

 

Rollo stretched in the grass. He was having a nice nap with Gyda and Gisla beside him. The little girl stirred and he realized his nap was over. Gisla was still sleeping, so he raised himself on one elbow and watched his daughter carefully as she rose to follow a butterfly, and began to pick flowers nearby. She turned now and then to wave happily at him, and he nodded and smiled back at her.

It was Rollo and Gisla’s fifth spring together in Frankia, and the family was enjoying an outing to Rollo’s favorite spot by the lake. He smiled at the memory of when he’d first come here with Gisla and what they had done here. Perhaps they had begotten Gyda that day. At least he liked to think so.

His eyes followed Gyda as she toddled around gathering flowers. Then she started towards the lake. Rollo rose quickly and followed her, ready to dive in after her if she decided to go in. 

When she saw him, she giggled and looked back and forth between the water and him. She pointed to the water, her flowers falling from her small fingers. “Papa, swim?”

Rollo grinned. Already his daughter loved swimming in the lake. But while the weather was mild, there was a breeze today and Gisla feared it was too cold for Gyda to be swimming. “Not today – it is too cold. But soon.”

Gyda looked disappointed and gazed out at the water and for a moment Rollo thought that she might defy him. She looked back at him with questioning eyes, and he crouched down and opened his arms to her. A joyful grin split her face and she ran into his arms. He scooped her up, rose to his feet, and swung her around, eliciting an excited squeal. 

“Shh, you will wake your mother.” He turned towards Gisla and found that she was already awake, sitting by the tree watching them, a contented smile on her face.

Rollo started to carry Gyda back to Gisla, but Gyda struggled and tried to climb down. “Flowers!”

“Ah, yes.” He turned her in his arms so she was nearly upside down and lowered her so she could scoop up the flowers. She laughed delightedly and grabbed at them. Then Rollo hauled her up to her mother, just as she was, giggling all the way.

There he plopped her down in the grass once more, and she organized her little bundle of blooms. She somberly offered them to her mother, who accepted them with grace, considering what a rumpled mess they were. “Thank you, my darling. They are beautiful.”

Gyda smiled her magical sunshiny smile that for Rollo made his world seem better than Valhalla and Fólkvangr combined. Then she turned to play in the grass, plucking at blades of grass and pointing at bugs. 

Rollo sat down beside Gisla, put his arm around her and drew her close. Together they watched Gyda playing. “She grows more and more like you each day.”

“I never picked up bugs. Adelgyda, put that down.”

“Mama – red bug.” Gyda pointed at a ladybug.

“Yes, my dear. Pretty to look at, but not to play with.” Gisla turned and smiled at Rollo. “Perhaps she is more like you?” They both laughed. Gyda sat down then and played with some little Tafl figures that Rollo had whittled for her. Rollo and Gisla watched as she made little scenes with them in the grass.

Rollo leaned over to Gisla and whispered in her ear. “Did you ever think that we could be so happy?”

“At the beginning? No. I never imagined that I would. But now that is nearly forgotten.”

“I can never forget. How my fate was woven for me – how happy it has made me.” He still marveled at how the fates had changed his life. He sometimes thought about Ragnar’s words – how certain he was that Rollo’s star was rising while his was waning. Rollo had never expected that things would turn out this way. He was sorry that Ragnar did not live to enjoy the same contentment that he had found, but felt somehow that wherever he was, Ragnar wished him well. Rollo squeezed Gisla again. “I want everyone to be as happy as I am.” 

Gisla smiled up at him. “Well, it certainly seems like they will be.” 

It had been a spring that seemed full of love and happiness. There were weddings and christenings among Ragnar’s settlers from Kattegat, who had built a successful community. Halvar and Ermengarde were finally expecting a child after coming to believe they could never have one. Halvar was a fiercely proud papa-to-be, and Ermengarde was already matchmaking. Somber, serious Marcoul had surprised them by making a marriage offer to Joveta, whom it seemed he had begun to love from afar since she first came to Rouen. He knew of her past, but it did not seem to bother him, and she looked at Marcoul with shy but affectionate eyes. Gisla had been overjoyed that the girl she had championed would now find the happiness in marriage that she’d hoped for before she’d been so terribly wronged. Even little Pepin – not so little now – had an admirer. The girl he had taken the place of as hostage when Gisla was kidnapped from the cathedral had thanked him profusely afterwards and given him flowers. Every time they met, she shyly spoke to him and offered him things she had baked or sewn. 

And now another match seemed nearly made.

“When do you think that Sinric will marry?” Rollo raised his eyebrows at Gisla.

Gisla giggled lightly. “He has to ask her first. All he does is make eyes at her.”

“He is shy. It’s odd, because they have been friends for so long. What does he have to be shy about? Perhaps he thinks that he is not good enough for her?”

A slight shadow passed over Gisla’s eyes. “No, I don’t think it’s that. I think he still struggles with the idea that he can love again after all these years since losing his family. Perhaps it will be Rosamund who will ask him.”

Rollo laughed. “She may have to. I would like to see him happy.”

“I think he will be.” Gisla smiled a mysterious smile, and Rollo realized that perhaps Gisla had been quietly helping that romance along.

“There must be something in the air.” Rollo breathed deeply and relaxed against the tree, Gisla in his arms, his daughter’s head bobbing in front of them as she played. Nothing could be better than this.

After a little while, Gisla stirred. “We should be getting back. You know Rosamund will scold me if I catch a chill.”

“Rosamund? I think it is Ermengarde who is more protective of you now.” 

Gisla smiled. “How disappointed she will be if our babies are both boys or both girls.” She laid her hand over her still-slender belly. “Although I will just be glad if our children can all be friends together.”

“As will I. We will bring them all here to play – and teach them all to swim.” He rose and offered Gisla his hand. 

Gisla stood and brushed her dress off, then straightened her veil. Rollo chuckled to himself. She was always so proper, even after being married to him for over five years. But he did not mind – she was the same princess he had married, going about her duties at the hospital and orphanage with such dedication, invoking the respect and devotion of the people, and being a loving wife and mother. He thanked the fates for his good fortune. 

“Gyda, time to go. Gather your toys and give them to Papa.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Rollo watched as his little daughter carefully picked up the figures and handed them to him one by one to be stowed in his pocket. “Good. Now close your eyes and open your mouth.” She obeyed instantly, and he chuckled at how much she looked like a plump baby bird waiting for a worm. He plopped a lone dragée into her mouth, and he grinned as her eyes lit up in delight at the surprise treat. 

Beside him, Gisla tut-tutted in what he knew was only mock disapproval. “You spoil her.” And sure enough, when he turned, he could see that her eyes were dancing, her way of teasing him for his own childlike love of dragées. And he knew that she was also remembering that first meal they had shared and how much she had truly disapproved of him then. 

Rollo rejoiced once more at how much things had changed and how they only seemed to get better. And as the golden sun set over the trees, glowing on the lake like the door to Valhalla, he whispered a little prayer to Odin for helping him find his way here. 

 

~~

[](http://imgur.com/OFhlSmx)>

~~

Enda

~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~
> 
> I guess it wouldn’t be a ZoeSongs Vikings fic without at least a few notes. But these are short and sweet – and mostly serendipitous, as I ran across them looking for other things.
> 
> Odin – This article describes Odin in such a way that I can really see Rollo admiring him. It says, “He’s a war-god, but also a poetry-god, and he has prominent ‘effeminate’ qualities that would have brought unspeakable shame to any historical Norse/Germanic warrior.” That last bit refers to Odin’s shamanism, which at the time was seen to be a woman’s role. My Rollo seems to appreciate the skills of women, especially strong women like Gisla, so that fits my notion quite well.  
> [Odin](http://norse-mythology.org/gods-and-creatures/the-aesir-gods-and-goddesses/odin/).
> 
> Old Norse words – for those of you who love languages, and especially the history and grammar of Old Norse, I thought you’d enjoy these articles. I found them as I attempted to find how to write “The End.” I settled for “Enda” which I found in the English-Old Norse dictionary below under “bring to an end.”  
> [139 Norse Words](https://www.babbel.com/en/magazine/139-norse-words).  
> [What does the ‘r’ represent at the end of Norse names?](http://gurumagazine.org/askaguru/r-represent-end-names-like-olafr-astridr-ragnarr/).  
> [English-Old Norse ](http://www.yorku.ca/inpar/language/English-Old_Norse.pdf).
> 
> And now this is truly the end. Thank you for reading, commenting, and encouraging me for these two wonderful years. 
> 
> And it might interest you to know that exactly two years from the day that I first posted this story, I will actually be in Rouen, France, visiting the tomb of Rollo, and gazing at the river that brought him to what would become Normandy. I will think of all of you when I'm there. :)
> 
> ~~

**Author's Note:**

> Historical accuracy disclaimer: 
> 
> While I value historical accuracy in fanfic (and pretty much everything that purports to be based on historical events and people), and I am making a great effort to research the cultures involved in this story, I make no claim that everything included is completely historically accurate for the place and time. Considering that the characters involved in the story are only marginally historically accurate as presented in the show, I hope that the readers of this fanfic can suspend disbelief enough to forgive any missteps on my part.


End file.
